I'd Do It All Again
by FiendsTooth
Summary: Garrett Hawke has always alienated himself from normal civilization after fifteen long years. Trained as a killer by an underground mob boss, Garrett soon discovers that there is more to his life than just killing. New people in his life, new friends and challenges. Will he be able to meet the expectations? Or will his sinister nature take control of his world?
1. Something Borrowed

The sky melted with color of dying light as the sun gave way to night, and with it came an unerring sense of peace, tranquility, and created a serene mood for those driving along the outskirts of Gwaren. A two-way road curved and twisted along the mountainside like a quick-flowing river, long and winding, nearly endless. It was a perfect night for a drive, to get those _nasty_ thoughts out of your head, and I took full advantage of the peace; calm skies, the gentle patter of rain against the windshield, and little to no chance of a storm, but along the coast-side one could never be too careful.

I leaned back in my seat, relaxed with a lazy grip on the wheel, head propped up on idle fingers, elbow jammed against the window, and my foot alleviated on the gas pedal. The beast I commanded was a Hummer, a large, black vehicle that owned the roads with every roar and purr of the motor. For the most part of the drive, I left myself in silence, only a few minutes ago had I let the radio play out a soft melody—so it was certainly peaceful, and in the still of the night most thoughts would be lost, or one could easily find themselves falling asleep.

Not I, of course. My gaze, while lax, remained locked ahead, and I was not about to look away for tonight was different than most nights.

I had a goal.

On the hunt, this trance I have fallen into kept my mind set on the objective, which only lay just ahead. Through the last spec of sun, a glint of metal caught my eye, and a sneer curled upon my lips. Patience gave way to fruition, as I slowly stepped on the gas, the great beast slowly gaining distance to another car—smaller, silver in color, and within that cold exterior was my ' _prize_ '. The blue light of a radio illuminated what I could make out to be five silhouettes.

I had been told there would be only a few people inside, and that I likely would not be able to catch them before the outer city limits, but I found them.

 _Mission report: The target will be moving towards the northern side of Gwaren and will head inland to some nobles' party. She is a quite highly respected noble. Eliminate her, and anyone with her._

The sound of chilled pavement beneath the wheel brought me out of my thoughts, and I relented to giving a little pressure to the pedal. I wanted to make little trouble for myself almost as badly as I wanted to go ahead and execute the mission. Alas, I still had to wait for approval.

One moment my phone was in hand, swiping out a message to my superior—the next, I settled it in the cup holder next to me. My sneer dwindled the longer it took for any form of approval— _Maker I hate waiting, why does he do this to me?_

I pulled free a cigarette, held it between my teeth, and snapped my fingers for a small flame to light. A quick drag and my mind settled behind the slow exhale of smoke.

I edge on the gas again, inching the hulking metal beast closer to the silver spec in front of me. From what I can see, the people inside seem to be celebrating. Their driving pattern is solid, so none of them are intoxicated. From what the contract had told me, I had to find them before they got back to the city. I knew in the next few miles we'd be too close to the city limits for me to do my job, so I prayed that I'd get my answer soon.

As if on cue, the screen lit up next to me, automatically opening with the most beautiful word I would have waited to see all night.

 _Engage._

A sinister grin creased my lips as I adjusted my position, leaned forward, and placed both hands on the wheel. A deep rumble of a laugh warmed in my throat and with each second passing the rush of adrenaline sent a thrill down my spine.

 _Tonight is going to be fun._

The distance closed between our vehicles. I'd been doing this for half a mile; closing in, then backing off. I could see the passengers in back occasionally looking back at me when I got near. The terror in their eyes visible as blinding headlights enveloped their vehicle, and then I struck.

They hadn't seen it coming—or maybe they had, but unexpected as the great beast of a vehicle delivered a gracious 'bump' to the back fender. Within its shell, they jolted forward, the one seated in the middle quickly turned back and glared, eyes wide, mouth agape, and her middle finger aimed straight at me.

For a moment, I almost thought better of myself to feign a drunken state, or at least some fool who had startled himself awake... I let them pull ahead and gently curve off into the other lane, grinning wickedly as they sped off. Another moment passes as I took a lengthy drag of my cigarette, my lip curls into a sneer, and I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

"Oh woe is me, they'll get to town before I can do away with them," I tutted through a breath, "such a shame," the flash of an amber glare in the rearview mirror, "that they won't be able to make it to the party."

Screeching tires cut through the tranquil night and the first sound of metal on metal rang out. Their pitiful vehicle was no match for mine. The pathetic beep it made brought out a bitter laugh as the honking finally subsided. I believe they had finally figured out what was going on.

A simple game of 'who can drive faster'.

I won.

I forced my truck against theirs again, veering and slamming into the back wheel, pedal held firmly to the floor and with a final hit, they would spiral off. At least I wished they would have. Their car caught the tail end of the guard rail and they spun out but somehow managed to get back on the road again. I stared incredulously at the odd sight; for one, horribly confused as to how in the hells they managed to do that; and second, that I was losing them.

 _Shit!_

Once more I tried to force my truck on them, cutting the wheel over a sharp turn and I just barely managed to hit and destroy the back wheel and their vehicle swerved precariously along the roadway. It was then that I realized that we were no longer near the ocean side and, in fact, now cloaked by trees. Over the grass they went, straight into the forest with the audible sound of their car hitting nearly everything in their path.

The sounds of things hitting my truck gave me all the more reason to hurry up and finish this job. I could follow them as long as I could—and I thought I had lost them again until up ahead, the crunch of metal hitting something hard; a tree maybe, and fire suddenly igniting—that meant they had stopped perhaps a little too quickly for my liking.

It only occurred to me that my brakes decided to give out maybe a few seconds before I slammed into their car. The sudden force of impact sent me forward, choked by the gracious seatbelt, I still ended up slamming head-first into the steering wheel and forced out a violent squawk of a noise that echoed in the sudden stillness of night.

 _"_ _Ach… Fuck_ …" I hissed as I settled back in my seat and cradled my head for mere seconds as I blinked away blurred vision. I could barely see what was in front of me between a near shattered windshield and what looked like specks of blood.

I tasted metal.

 _Maker, it hurts._

I pulled my hood over my head, shadowing my eyes, waited a moment, then leaned over to the passenger side of the truck and fished up my rifle that I lovingly call _Lilith_. As I kicked down the door I caught sight of two women scrambling out of the wreckage; bloody and terrified.

The truck door slammed against a stone and the sound resonated in the pitch of the forest and as I cocked my rifle, all went still. The crackle of flames and the rolling boom of thunder seemed to be the only thing to break the silence.

Illuminated in a flash of lightning, these two looked as if they'd seen a demon. Like two deer trapped in headlights, their eyes wide, mouth open, and sheer terror radiating off of their bodies as my form stood before them.

I knew what they're thinking; who is this man? Who is this inhuman being with glowing eyes? I sneered as I loaded the gun and savored each passing second of them petrified with fear.

"Good evening, ladies." I purred, slowly moving towards them. I spat a good glob of blood out onto the grass and chuckled under my breath, "Lovely night, isn't it?"

My gaze flicked over to their car for a moment then locked straight on them. The woman I was after, and her companion sat together, one having broken her leg and the other one too scared to move. They were bloody, their dresses torn, and the dismayed look they sported gave me nothing but delight.

I tutted as I stalked towards them, finally urging them to scramble back.

"Such a mess, hm? Nothing like how you planned your evening to go, yeah?" I spoke softly and readied my gun.

"Y-you're a monster!" My target spat, holding her friends' hand tight as they both dragged themselves through the mud. "Please let us go! W-we'll do anything! What do you want!? Money? Sex? We can give you anything you want—we won't report this to the authorities—please let us go!" As tempting and as lovely as they and their offers were, I'm not one to be bribed.

Gun readied, I followed after them as they scramble to their feet and hobble away, my gaze quickly flicked to the car, and seeing no movement at that moment, I pulled the trigger.

Her friend went down first; her head obliterated by the first shot and her blood showering everything in front of her, my target included.

She stumbled and fell to her knees. I'm on her instantly, digging the heel of my boot firmly into her spine. Releasing Lillith, I reached into my coat and withdrew a pistol.

"Y'know. I don't actually know your name," says I, "I've seen your face before… Ssssomewhere…" She cries out as her bones crack and I press the barrel of the gun to her head.

I put more weight onto her back and she wheezes.

"Oh, I remember now." Finger on the trigger, gently squeezing it, "the lady Felicity Stannard; wife of a wealthy gem merchant, mother of five, and sister to a dead man and some bitch overseas." She gasps a sob, fingers kneading into the grass, muscles straining. "Don't worry." I crooned, "Your family is safe from the clutches of my guild. We only wanted _your_ blood."

She starts to struggle, and with that I dropped my gun and grabbed her head with both hands. My grin twisting ever further and with a sudden jerk, the audible snap of bone was suddenly swallowed up by another boom of thunder and she lay limp in the grass. I stood, grabbed up my guns, and felt a sudden, sharp pain against the back of my head.

I stumbled, finding purchase against a tree and quickly turned just as the assailant swung again. The first hit disoriented me, and the second swing came down just short of my clavicle. A kick caught me in the gut and again I fell back, finding my hands empty and my gun abandoned several feet away. Once I had managed to gather myself I ducked for it.

Scrambling. His weight thrust against me and we were on the ground, fighting for hold of the grip. Whoever gets it—

 _BANG._

One shot.

Two shots.

One to the head.

I struggled to my feet, everything a blur, the sounds about me bringing forth a painful ache. Covered my ears and closed my eyes—nothing was making the pain stop!

I let loose another bullet at the deceased and scowled. I quickly reloaded the gun and made a mad dash towards the wreckage of their car and threw myself at a stumbling figure.

He didn't even have time to cry out with each bloody punch to his stupid face—and even after the final gurgling sound had subsided, I just kept punching. His skull caved in, and as the first backsplash caught my face, I finally halted mid swing. A breath released, I slowly looked over and he had something in his hands—something shiny.

Prying his fingers open I took the amulet—it seemed… It was a dragon? How curious… I fingered the open maw a moment, pressing my thumb against the metal teeth then quickly slipped it into my pocket.

 _That makes four_. _Now where's the last one?_

I was met by a bloody grin as I peeked into the back window. The poor girls' smile half-faded behind bloody lips. Lucky me.

 _This makes five._

They're all dead.

Clean up had to be quick—and no doubt in my mind that there was going to be others coming after them when they don't show up— _ugh_ —I gripped my stomach and hunch over, head spinning.

I composed myself after the wave of nausea passed and got to work; looting what I could, taking whatever money and jewelry they had and stuffing it in my pockets. I retrieved my rifle and set it back in my truck after I put all their bodies back into the tiny wreck.

There was no way I could move this thing all the way to the Cliffside, and there were no open paths that would make disposal any easier.

 _Leave no witnesses—no bodies._ My boss had given me explicit instructions—and somehow I'd managed to make more work for myself—Muscles straining, I push my own vehicle as far back as I can, then got to work on trying to move theirs.

It took far longer than I wanted it to. With lack of knowledge of the immediate area, I'd almost made the fall first. A gracious tree saved my life and allowed me to propel the damaged small car over the edge. I watched with ragged breath as the metal corpse groaned and slid forth, crashing against the stone and outlying plants before it finally fell into the ocean below with the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.

Pain. Soaked to the briefs. Exhausted beyond belief, and stained with the blood of five, I fell back against a tree, panting and running my hand through my hair.

A normal man would hate himself—taking the lives of innocents. A normal man would feel remorse… A normal man… would not have done these things. He wouldn't do this. He wouldn't revel in death.

But I was never a normal man.

So I laughed.

I shouldered a small bag that I'd pilfered and started back towards my truck—knowing full well that the rain and beasts would take care of the bits of exploded brain and blood in the wood. The bits of metal were thrown over the Cliffside as well so there was no real worry there—

As I pulled myself back into my truck, it was then that I felt a warm trickle run down the middle of my face.

Right… I got hurt.

Forgot about that.

I suppose with the rush of adrenaline, I had all but completely ignored the fact that I was already injured.

 _Fuck it._

I spat out another mouthful onto the road and tried to get the tank of a vehicle to start. It sputtered to life (only just barely still kicking) and I pulled out onto the road once more with the crime scene in my rearview mirror.

She wouldn't last too long, I could already hear the life choking out of her—shit.

I needed to get back to the rendezvous point…I just hoped that I could make it with her intact.

Alas, it was not to be. Not even fifteen miles out, I had to pull over lest my beloved vehicle explodes with me inside. Ignition off and my jacket pulled tight around me, I stepped out into the cold night again. _Looks like I will have to walk._

I collected what I could in a black duffel bag, my phone returned to my pocket, and whatever else I owned hidden away for safety, I started back towards Gwaren.

Now, living in Ferelden had its many disadvantages, what with bears and all sorts of insanities wandered the woods and backroads, you had to be prepared.

I followed the road. Freezing, by the time I had managed to grab up my phone (after numerous phone calls going unanswered) it had pretty much suffered enough water damage to not function.

Silence became maddening after being alone for such a long time—and in that silence I noticed that several cars had already passed me by (and fairly certain they had stepped on the gas to get as far away from me as possible).

My feet ached, I was pretty damn hungry, and in a mood far more foul than I'd started off with. Today has certainly gone to the dogs.

 _Just keep moving._ I had to remind myself over and over the longer the trip seemed to drag on.

Screeching tires and bright headlights caught my attention and I halt dead in my tracks to wipe the water from my eyes. The window rolled down and I was met by the soft grey glow of my boss' eyes peering up at me from the back seat. The scent of something warm comes at me—hot chocolate—seemed to be drink of choice as he held it to his lips. He seemed shaken up for some reason, but I knew not why.

"There you are," says he, "I've been trying to get a hold of you for _hours_. Where have you been?"

"My phone died," I answer, "but the deed is done, Serah. Unfortunately my truck was also a casualty in the endeavor."

His eyes rolled back and he hummed in thought, motioning to the back of the jeep. The cab, as usual. It would appear that I was too bloody for his tastes, tonight, so I limped towards the back and finally hauled myself in, settling against sacks of whatever the hell they had. Illegal contraband or something.

 _By all means,_ I think grimly to myself, _don't let me warm up in the truck, oh no by all means, let me catch my death out here._

But I couldn't _really_ blame him. _I'll be fine._

"We'll get your truck tomorrow, pet." I heard the exhaustion in his voice as the back of his hand gently rested against the window, "for now, we need to get you fixed up."

Silence followed when we headed back to town, my own mind betraying me as I fell asleep.

Every ounce of my body ached. The rain had let up significantly the further inland we went, but that was not going to make the aches cease. I had made the mistake of believing we'd have a smooth trip back when a sudden sharp swerve threw me to the other end of the cab, face first into more contraband.

"Damn it, Brennan!" I slammed my fist against the window and glare at the other sneering face in the mirror. When I looked back I saw the flash of a white stags' tail.

We'd nearly hit a deer.

A fucking _deer._

"Really!?" I snarled, massaging the side of my jaw before I slowly settled back into a comfortable position.

 _Not letting that one go, Brennan._

If I had to kill again, Brennan is the first to go.

Fucker.

I wound up falling asleep again, no thanks for Brennan's _exceptional_ driving capability but more due to my own complete exhaustion; the scenario of the contract playing over again and again in my head, each time being different methods of their destruction. All of which ended up with me as the victor—though I felt I could have killed them all in one go if I had just ran them off the road earlier, instead of antagonizing them—it wouldn't have been as fun, but certainly much more effective.

When I finally woke, my mind went back to the contract once again, who I had been assigned to kill; it had only been Felicity, but as fate has it, I had to kill the other four as well. Rules dictate that either you not be seen and take out the solo target as quickly as possible, which I failed in doing _immensely_ , or kill the lot of them and leave no evidence. I was never privy as to _why_ her death had been desired, then again, I never questioned orders. All that mattered was that she was dead, and I more or less completed the mission.

And I would get paid. That's always a bonus.

We pulled into a gas station several miles from the inner city. The truck shook and the soft sound of heels meeting the ground caught my attention. I turned just to see his face over the side of the truck, and without much need for invitation, I vaulted over to meet him.

Standing proper with his hands behind his back and a gentle smile on tired lips, he nodded to me and in turn, I smiled. He was an older man, about twenty or so years my senior. Slicked back hair peppered with age, grey eyes to match and a beard that rivaled my own. For a noble, he is nowhere near as fat or overfed as the latter would be, and in fact is quite slender. Wealth is no issue for him, but tonight he seemed to have dressed down.

His name was Danarius.

He's a dangerous man who had his fingers in many pockets, stood within many circles, and on many councils. A well-rounded man, I'll admit and of course he was a Vint—a magister.

To put it plainly, I admired him, and perhaps more than just admired him. He took me in when I was just a fool of a teenager who had found himself in unsavory luck. He trained me to be what I am today. Despite me also being a mage, he had made sure I had an assortment of talents to boast.

In a brisk motion, he was in front of me, his hands firm on either of my arms and the same grin on his lips.

I returned the grin and offer a weakened chuckle.

"You have done well, my pet," he purred, trailing his fingers down to my wrists before he turned one over and placed a heavy pouch in my hands. Cold fingers gone before I could think to react, and returned neatly behind his back, he turned his back to me for a moment, and then quickly faced me once again.

Curiosity hung in his eyes even though the answer had rarely varied, yet with every question he had asked, they were always followed by warm ripples of praise.

"Tell me, did they suffer?" I knew the answer he wanted, so I nod.

"To the very last breath."

"I knew I could trust you." He was quick on his heel and gave me that smile again, and then he motioned for me to follow him.

The bell on the door chimed as we walked through, but the cashier paid us no mind as I immediately went for food. No more words exchanged when I bought a bag of chips. Only once we left the store, did Dan finally nudge me.

"Now tell me, pet," he says, "how does it feel to take the lives of other people?"

An… _odd_ question.

"It's no different than taking the life of a miserable animal," I stuffed a good handful into my mouth and slid my tongue over my lips. I guess I never really thought about that, to be honest. Why it never felt wrong to take another human life; like it was all just a game. The notion of it being nothing more than hunting an animal should be worrisome, but it didn't bother me—I lived with this feeling on a daily basis, so I looked to him with confusion. The look on his face told me that wasn't the answer he was looking for, but still he nodded.

"That is acceptable, _maleficus_ ," Dan hummed.

My mind wandered elsewhere and I didn't catch what else he said, so I guess I made a face that spoke confusion and he pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

"Alright, so, come morning you should have new equipment and new missives, I have a meeting to tend to back in Denerim and I'd love to take you out for breakfast and—"

"What about my truck?"

He stopped mid-sentence and stared at me.

"I don't have any other transport and I'll be damned if I have to take the underground to get to another objective."

Danarius exhaled slowly and pressed the tips of his fingers together.

"You will have a replacement vehicle as well, pet, you know I'll take care of you." His eyes flicked from my face, to my chest, and lower, then back to my face. He had this look in his eyes that just made me shiver.

"Will I get to wear a fancy suit like Agent 47?" I joke, but the laugh died even before it passed my lips so I attempted to disguise it with a cough.

The attempt was a massive failure and Dan only shook his head as I ended up throwing myself into a coughing fit.

"Only if you can keep it up, you ruffian." Dan didn't even have to tell me that he thinks I dress like a homeless man.

I mean, yes, I've let the outfit go a little. It's worn down, riddled with bullet holes and old blood stains. Most of my outfit has been let go, and little was left that can be considered salvageable. I suppose I was just a lost cause.

"Come morning, you'll have new gear, and a new vehicle, and a new mod for your gun." I beamed and he actually laughed, passing me by and gently bumping me with his hip as he headed towards the truck. I watched him, brows quirked with interest.

"Perhaps before I leave we can have some time together, hm?"

I could only nod dumbly, and as the boss settled in the car closing the door behind him, I caught Brennan mock-gagging.

 _Real mature._ I rolled my eyes, and we settled back in our positions and headed back home.

They dropped me off in front of my apartment, one cheap and clean, and Dan left me with a last request, a wink, and I stood there like an idiot, red-faced and flustered.

As I turned to head in, I see my neighbor staring out the window—the ever present snoop of my personal life. I really hate him.

I key myself in and wander up to my flat, passing by several of my other neighbors, some of which are once again engaged in overly loud activities or their children are screaming.

 _Such delights._

Opening the door, I'm greeted by the smell of dog and stale cigarettes. Clothes thrown all about, dishes piled up in the sink desperately needing to be washed, gross old food here and there.

Gods, I'm a disaster.

I haven't had time to clean since I've been so busy lately, and I've had rarely any time to come home as it is. You'd think whoever took my dog out would have at least tried to be helpful.

Shameful.

Speaking of dogs, I have no idea where the hell mine is. He's a 150lbs purebred mabari and if he's somehow managed to hide here, then I have a big problem.

Just as I closed the door and kicked off my boots I was assaulted by said 150lbs of muscle and slobber.

"Odin! Down, old boy! Down!" The laughter in response was expected as I ruffled his ears and playfully pecked his velvet-soft forehead. The hound, in turn, gave me a kiss in return.

Odin was, by all means, my one and only best friend. He had been with me for years and for his unquestionable love and attention, I'll never doubt him. I named him after a heroic war hound that helped the Hero of Ferelden save the world during the Fifth Blight.

Wiping my face off and managing to push him off of me, I finally got to my feet and made way to the kitchen, tripping over his empty bowl and nearly smacking headfirst into the cupboard door.

The _empty_ cupboard that I could have _sworn_ had stuff in it before? Had I just been robbed? Oh no, wait there's his food.

I chalked it up to my lack of presence in my own home that ended up with me having next to nothing in my house to begin with. Why I had a dog was another question, but he was a gift and I had to take care of him as best as I could.

"Alright—I said _down,_ you heathen." I pushed the excited war hound back with my leg to perform some manic balancing act as I retrieved the foul smelling bag of kibble. Odin didn't even give me a chance to correctly ration it to him as he just kept on eating what I dumped in his bowl.

Eventually I succeeded in cleaning up the kitchen, and made my way to the main room where I was nearly bowled over by the excited hound leaping onto the couch and taking his spot—which isn't allowed.

But it was good to be home and honestly? I really couldn't be bothered to move his ass, so I left him alone and made my way to the bathroom. Where I trip over a large pile of clothes and fall flat into the door.

Considering that I had just committed an atrocity and a half not even a few hours ago, I have no idea why I was still surprised by my lack of agility.

The pain was back.

If it's all the same, the bathroom was the cleanest place in the house. Shocking, I know.

I turned the water up to the right temperature and started peeling off each bloody layer of clothes, though each article being soaked beyond belief and sticking to my body did not make for an easy time. Once bare, I threw them in the trash. There is no way in the Void that I am ever going to be able to wear those clothes again. Not even my poor scarf.

 _Rest in peace, old friend._

Stepping beneath the scalding drops got me to thinking about my financial situation; Dan paid me a heavy sum for today. Plus what he handed to me as a bonus. I should have enough to move out of this damn flat and find a newer place in the city…

Oh, what am I kidding, I couldn't leave him.

He offered this place to me and I have to be thankful of that, after all, it's been a while since he had let me live on my own. With growing interest and Dan selling me off to the higher bidder with each new contract, there's no reason that I shouldn't be able to—

 _No. I have to stay with him._

All approved clients from my m- my boss come my way, he gives me the information that they have, and I do the dirty work. No questions asked. That's the arrangement.

Scrubbing away at wound and blood stains hurts like a mother, but I'm clean after a half hour. A throbbing headache made shower time cut short as I'd brush over a welt—

Holy shit, what was this even from?

Oh. Right.

That guy.

With the bashed in head. He hit me with a fucking pipe.

I finally dry off and plop on the couch next to the snoring hound—watching television for a moment, and then get bored enough to clean the damn place.

I cracked open the windows. Vacuuming can wait for the morning, but for now I needed to clean—

I took an extra hour to clean out my guns. They're all in prime condition. I took better care of my guns than I did myself, which was pretty pathetic to say the least but I didn't really care.

Safety back on, I returned the trio to their rightful places.

By the time I set to cleaning my AR-15, Odin had wandered off again to Maker knows where. Out of sight, out of mind.

Adrenaline from my latest kill still surged through my veins and I couldn't help but feel a little jittery and giddy, the anxious grin reflected back at me when I finally go brush my teeth—another hour passed, a quick glance at the clock—

 **4:45AM**

Well, shit.

I should probably go to bed…

Odin had already been fed and watered, so I step over his large form in the hallway and inch over to my bed. Once comfortably situated on the mattress and covered by a ridiculous amount of pillows and blankets, the lull of the outside world coaxed me to sleep.

I thrash about in my sleep. I know this for a fact and it is not something that you want to wake up to. It's not pretty. I startled myself awake by cracking my head against the nightstand. The previous injury causing me to double over in pain, I held my head and slowly sat up, blinking away sleep and a brand new wave of nausea.

 _Ach… Fuck._

Massaging the side of my head, I took unsteady breaths, like a panicked beast as I glanced about the room. The sun was out, that much I could see from the light coming through the curtains. I was drenched in sweat, dizzy, and having trouble breathing.

Overheating is a big problem for someone who likes to be covered in blankets. The blanket stuck to my body, twisted around my legs as I _tried_ to pry myself out of bed but it just wouldn't—let—go! Struggling to get out of the constricting fabric, I wound up tripping over the sleeping mabari and landed on my back with a loud _thud_.

I lay there for a moment, contemplated life and stared wide-eyed up at the ceiling fan as the blades circled for the umpteenth time with the blanket still firmly wrapped around my thigh. With a sigh I uncoiled myself from the cotton stranglehold and get to my feet, I scratched my beard and tap the mabaris flank with my heel as I moved about.

I tugged on a new pair of pants and a plain tank top and stride out of the room straight towards the bathroom, picking up the majority of discarded clothes along the way. By the time I reached the door, I have a good load-full of things in dire need of cleaning.

About an hour later, the house was clean, the windows are open, and my phone is on the verge of having a mechanical heart attack on the counter…

Oh.

I guess I have to answer.

"Hawke." I answered. The voice on the other end is muffled and by all means irritated.

"Good morning to you too, Brennan." There's a knock on the door and footsteps retreating as I opened it.

There's a box. A huge one.

"Your package should have arrived by now. There should be a new outfit, courtesy of your _Master_. Plus a new mod for your rifle, and some other shit that I don't care enough to tell you about. Boss will be by in an hour to pick you up and yadda yadda, be ready." As usual there was no goodbye or actual end when he hung up on me.

I toss my phone onto the couch and drag the box in with me.

 _Let's see what you've spoiled me with this time, Dan._

Ooh look, packing peanuts. Wonderful. Odin will be eating these in no time.

A shiny briefcase. _Delightful_.

I popped open the top and within lay such treasures as well as things that I didn't expect to be able to fit in this kind of case. Like neatly folded up clothes.

 _He's really trying to spoil me. I wonder what for?_

 _Good, good_.

I feel along the fabric and could make out a specific bulge between the fibers. I pull off the bundle to find my modifications; an enhanced scope for my gun, and a laser sight. In between the new magazine is fiber wire. I've been one more attuned to snapping necks, but I suppose when you absolutely need to make the silent kill… There's a new trench coat, some new shirts, a new gun holster, and a new set of earrings?

 _Alright. No new boots? Good._

A flash of crimson catches my eye.

It… He sent me a new scarf…

It's soft to the touch. As it shifts between my fingers, the material shimmers faintly in the sunlight. Brand new, custom crafted, and dyed crimson to suit my favorite colour with two entwined hawks made of silver thread—my personal insignia.

I…I never really knew where this symbol came from; even though I had the same insignia on my ring. I guess that wherever it came from originally, it was really important to me. I don't remember much of anything, to tell the truth, before I met Danarius.

The silk feels amazing—and I rub my thumbs along the material absently for a few moments before I turned my attention back to the briefcase. There's still a little more in there.

I fix the scarf around my neck, smile weakly into the mirror as I do, then skip over to the discarded briefcase. Inside there's a grey cardigan, sort of billowing fabric, and it seemed ridiculous to try to put it on the first time, but after a few moments of fixing the extra fabric I was met by my own reflection smiling at me; an amber gaze that glows in dim lighting surrounded by a field of dark grey. My eyes are unnatural, and I can't fix it now.

More than likely I'll have to get straight to business.

Mental checklist:

Trench coat? Check.

Boots? Check. I tap the toe against the floor.

Scarf? Check.

Gloves? Check.

Fiber Wire? Check.

Guns? Check and double check.

Looks like I'm set.

I make my way to the bathroom and freshen up—shape up my beard and hair and whatnot and of course flex at the mirror, because who doesn't do that? All set, I head to the bedroom and get dressed in my usual fashion of a dark under armour tank top, which I will not deny that it accented my muscles.

I fit myself with my pistol strap on my belt, fixing the ungodly large belt buckle at the center, and then the trench coat, which I'm genuinely surprised actually fits me, being as large as I am. My reflection in the full-body mirror was nothing of surprise to me. But I still sighed.

 _Holy shit I look like a criminal._

Before I left, I took one last look at my neck and tug down the collar of my shirt a bit to show more; my entire neck is covered in large bars of black ink, some of which had been violated by an obscenely long scar that ran diagonally across my throat. The black ink disappeared beneath chest hair and the shirt, so I quickly take my attention back to the original goal.

Heading back out to the living room, I spotted a loose piece of paper with Dan's handwriting gracing its front.

" _Get yourself cleaned up for breakfast; I'll be there to pick you up by ten. Don't dress like a thug._

 _-Dan_ "

I looked at the clock, and it's almost ten. Go figure. Well then I guess I'll have to dress down a little? I suppose I can wear that new cardigan…

I changed clothes _again,_ and then I hear a horn from outside. I grab up my keys and my wallet, and scratch Odin's ears before I go. Down the stairs I go, and once outside I'm greeted by the sight of Danarius and a shiny Lexus in the parkway.

His eyes brighten when he sees me and I knew that today was definitely going to be a good day.


	2. Silent Screams

As I closed the door behind me, I hear the hum of a motor and turn towards the sound. His grey hairs turned golden in the morning sun, pale skin kissed with an almost awkward amount of light, stormy eyes seemingly holding a new bout of mischief and authority. The black Lexus had been parked in front of my building, and he stood before the brand new vehicle with his tired hands folded gently on the head of his dragon-faced cane. He'd had his gaze turned down at the walkway, eyes closed as he leaned back against the cold metal, to which the stark gaze locked on me as I trotted towards him. Nearing him, I could smell his cologne; a handsome scent that I couldn't recognize but was all the more mesmerized by. Just seeing the smile rise in his eyes and on his lips, his hand rose ever so gently, and rested against my jaw with his fingers teasing through my beard, I smiled.

A sedated hum in response—I granted him another as he pulled me down to him—to the tender brush of a kiss. I readily leaned forward again as he pulled back, giving a rather deflated groan with either of my hands resting on his sides.

"Good morning." Says I with a grin as he leaned towards me, "thank you for the gifts."

"It's not a problem, my pet." Danarius runs his fingers through the mess of black that is my hair and chuckles, "You deserved to be spoiled for a job well done."

Another ginger peck and I have him backed against the car. A warm puff of his breath hit my jaw as I rest my forehead against his. We stood like this for a few moments then I straightened back up with burning cheeks. He looked really good today. A little more dressed than he would be normally, but somehow this didn't seem like he was going right to a meeting like he'd said. As I pulled back I drag my thumb down the corner of his mouth to his chin and he smiles up at me.

Rough fingers wrap around mine, and I could see a soft flicker of light in his eyes as he looked me over—several times in fact—and then rested his hands on my waist and pushes me back to get a better look at me.

"The outfit suits you, pet, I'm glad I picked the right size." Dan's eyes trail downwards even further and halt somewhere around my waistline, he motions a finger for me to turn about.

"Give me a show, pet." A twisted grin displaced the light in his normally grey eyes and now they had turned violet with mischief.

 _Please. Not here. Don't make me do this here._

As I looked into his eyes, I felt an odd sensation flow through my body. My mind seemed to pull away for a moment, then quickly returned with a sharp crackling in the back of my head. I stared hard at him, a brow raised then a pleading look fell over me.

"Forgive me for saying so, love, but I really don't think that's appropriate for the public eye."

That displeased him. His jaw set and his eyes narrowed—a glare that bore a hole in my chest, another lump formed in my throat. I did my best to swallow it away, but there it remained as he wet his lips.

" _Do you not love me, pet?"_ His eyes filled with a sudden sadness.

"W-well of course I do, Dan." A pain in my chest, my heart started to ache, "I love you a lot."

"Then why won't you do as I ask? If you did, you would do this for me."

I tried to swallow away the lump in my throat, but there it remained until I gave in to my own desire to make him smile—so I dipped my head and turned about for him. I wound up catching his expression return to a pleased, neutral grin.

I stopped my spin as his hands graced my hips and slid beneath my shirt.

 _Cold._

"Was that so hard, my pet?" His fingers are _just so cold_ , unusually so, despite the warmth returning to his eyes. I felt his chest against my back and the warmth of his breath wisp against the back of my neck seemed to chill my skin as it made contact. His lips on the back of my neck rose hairs stiff at the base of my head. I froze in his embrace, my heart racing and my entire form fighting back the urge to cry in public.

 _Did I really hurt him by not doing what he wanted me to do? Oh Gods, please don't let him be upset with me._

I caught sight of a small audience we'd gained from inside the building and a few disgusted looking passersby on the streets—believe me, I wasn't too pleased by this public display either.

"No, sir, it wasn't." I turn to face him, his nails trailed firm against my stomach and returned to his sides. He seemed satisfied with me.

 _I hope._

"You can make it up to me on the way back, hm?" Danarius releases me and the car door opens from within to reveal a younger man that I don't recognize.

"Yes, sir." I answer.

This younger man steps out into the open, medium length brown hair tied back in a ponytail, a rather casual outfit in comparison to Danarius' current attire, but nonetheless looks like he's become rather uncomfortable with the, both, the interactions between the two of us, and the fact that he looks like nothing more than a servant. Danarius motions for me to get in first, so I do, and he follows. The kid slips into the passenger seat up front with our driver. From the window rolled down, I only vaguely recognized her as my counterpart; a young woman named Alyson. She and I exchange simple glares of disdain in the rearview mirror before she rolls the window back up, leaving the two of us alone in back.

She's usually nice when Dan's around, and she's always got this shit-eating grin whenever I get yelled at. I've spoken to her on multiple occasions involving our guild, and I had come to realize that when our boss wasn't around—she's just a right bitch.

Kind of moody, that one.

As I looked her over, there's a pressure on my thigh—I jumped—my head immediately snapping down to see Dan's hand resting there. Gaze flicking over from his hand to his face, then back, I forced an uncertain smile. I reach around and rest my arm over his shoulders as I scoot closer to him, our thighs touching. He reaches over and grabs a hold of my other hand and laces our fingers together.

Weakened. Frail. Tired. His hands shake slightly as my grip tightens, a dull hum passed between us through his magical aura that trailed to the tips of my fingers. Dan was not too old for this to be happening so early. I had been with him for so many years and have watched him fall through phases of this kind of illness countless times, only for him to recover and live on as if nothing had happened, but this was what worried me. It was happening again, and last time he'd been hospitalized.

A waver in his voice as he calls for the car to get moving, he'd tried to hide it but I knew it well enough to pick it out, and I looked at him and leaned into his neck with a soft peck.

The shaking stopped.

"Are you well, sir?" A weak crack broke my own tone and I pull away, lingering closer to his jaw. His neck was riddled with darker veins, here and there, as if he'd been poisoned, yet this was different than that. My question seemed to catch him off guard as he had looked at me with surprise. Surprise, and sudden fear.

He swallowed, pursed his lips, opened again to speak, then simply remained silent with a sly smirk replacing his former scowl.

"I'm as well as I can be, my pet, no need to concern yourself." Dan's nails graze along my chin, his thumb rests against my bottom lip and he pulls me to him with a light and feathery touch.

"See?"

"Yes, sir."

He pats my cheek and turns his attention outside of the car, pointing out several larger buildings that he had visited when he was out and about for meetings of varying sorts. Most buildings, of which, seemed to be more corporate than industrial from what I had been accustomed to visiting when I was on duty. None of these buildings really seemed as shady as I had come to believe. A few more buildings of decreasing size were brought to my attention, but I hardly paid them any mind despite his _interesting_ explanations of each.

Times drags on when you worry. Even if it was over trivial things. By the time my attention had left Dan's health, we'd already arrived at our destination.

Alyson pulled over near the building entrance and Dan went first, then me. The kid and Alyson weren't going to be dining with us this morning which I'll admit is an easier bonus than them sitting with us and scowling at me.

"Hour and a half." Dan announced, and with a nod, Alyson and the kid rolled up the windows, then glared back at me.

Both of them had made it clear that my presence was not appreciated. Not like it was anything new. They left us as soon as I closed the door.

The building we stand before was old. Greying bricks layered over and over with several colourful murals painted along each individual pored surface. This building took pride in the mural dedicated to the newly crowned king of Ferelden, Alistair Theirin.

Honestly, I've met him once in passing. Quite a fancy man, he is, very guarded and unsure of himself and he seemed to hide his true emotions behind a cold, hardened shell. A façade that I was all too familiar with. But he's a good man. I've met his wife. She… Seemed familiar and I think she told me the same thing. Familiarity was quite odd-

As I looked the mural over, Dan grabs my hand and yanks me forward into the overly fancy double doors.

Everything is a blur for a good few minutes as my eyes readjusted to the dark of the room, the chill left behind me, and I am greeted by a sudden wave of warmth and amazing scents that swirl about the restaurant. As I look about, not only is everyone rather nicely dressed, but I suddenly feel like I'm intruding in their sanctuary. Dan walks off without me and speaks to the host, who casts a neutral glance in my direction, then smiles at Dan.

They head off towards an open seat and I quickly follow suit. I hear their whispers; I see their heads snap back to their meals with their gazes averted.

I'm out of my element again. I hadn't realized it before, but Dan had brought me to probably the most posh sector of Lothering. I'm nothing but a peasant to these people. No wonder they're giving me the eye.

Dan settles on one side of our booth, and I on the other, my fingers locked together with increasing nerve. The host speaks to Dan and turns on his heel and leaves.

"Why here?" I whisper, eyeing him over. The clinking of silverware on plates and the dull murmur about other folk catches my attention, so I listen. He wasn't going to answer me anyway.

Focusing, I closed my eyes and let my hearing take over. Amidst the usual sounds of cutlery hitting ceramic plates and the odd sound of a phone going off, the weak hum of some music that I cared little to pay attention to, and then I could hear it.

A couple a few tables from us seemed to take deeper interest in our twosome.

" _It's quite nice to see a man and his son out and about nowadays."_

At that, I snorted.

 _"_ _I don't think they're related, darling."_

 _"_ _No? They seem… Similar…"_

 _"_ _Employee, then."_

 _"_ _Possibly."_

I could listen to their stupid conversation for hours if I'd like. They weren't too smart, by the sounds of it, and my attention is grabbed as Dan takes my hands in his. His warm lips press against my knuckles and my face grows warm.

"Dan…" Two cups of coffee were brought to us, and Dan orders both our meals. The waiter leaves just as quickly as he'd arrived.

I feel… at a loss. I worry about him. Yes, the shaking had ceased, but for how long?

"Are you sure you're well?" I squeezed his hands.

The old man shook his head and furrowed his brow; casting his gaze down at his cup, then back up at me.

"You're too smart a man for me to lie to you anymore, my love." My heart skipped a beat and I could only stare, incredulously, at him.

"I haven't been well for a while, but I will live. They've… My people tell me they've found a cure for my illness. That is where I am going today after I leave you." He chuckles softly and pats my hand.

"May I ask, sir, what is it that afflicts you?" Dan pulls his hand back, takes two packets of sugar, and tears them into his cup, a weak and humorless laugh following.

"They originally thought it to be a cancer of a sort, but, ah, this is not so. They are unsure what is wrong with me, only that I am dying. Or—was—dying."

"Then… How have you been healing?" I take a sip of my own brew and sigh as he shrugs.

"Since last night? Better." Our food is settled in front of us and Dan's attention turns down to it and he starts eating. I trust his judgement only enough to give in and eat my own meal. "But so far I have to wait to see how the treatment will go. I'll let you know once it does."

That adds another worry to my list, and I just can't handle it. I made to speak again, but a quick glare made me swallow my own words.

Silence hung between us as we ate, though halfway through I lost any desire to eat.

The rest went by quickly—we spoke a little more, finished our coffee, Dan paid, and we went on our way towards the car once more. Once there, however, Dan did something I wasn't expecting.

As the door closed behind us, Dan pushed me onto the pleather seats, a hand firm on my chest and a grin on his lips. He kisses me, again and again, his hand snaking beneath my shirt and his nails drag down my stomach, halting at the hem of my jeans.

I push him back—a glint in his eyes as our gazes meet—and a searing wave of desire rushed through my veins, a growl rousing in my throat. I grin at him and, without hesitation, push him against the back seat, pressing an open mouth to the center of his throat, teeth grazing along the sensitive skin to the muscle connecting to his shoulder, and my hand wandering down his front to rest dangerously over his groin.

"You. Me. My flat. Perhaps I can… _please_ you, my lord, before you go on your way."

Keys in one, Dan in the other, I lead him up through the stairwell to my floor and quickly key us into my flat. There was not a moment's hesitation as he pins me to the doorway, his lips attacking mine. I push him away for only a moment to breathe and grab hold of him, lifting him into my arms and crossing through the main room towards the couch.

Odin barks at us, but goes ignored as I let Dan drop into the soft material. I go second, straddling the older man's thighs with an earnest grin as I lean into an open mouthed kiss, his fingers knitted firmly into my hair. He still tastes of coffee and honey; his hips buck up towards me and break those caged words from earlier—freeing them in a gasp. His teeth lightly grip onto my bottom lip as I pull back; the look of lust in his eyes makes me swallow and pant.

 _I want to please him._

 _I want to make him happy._

The fabric barrier between us provides only another growl from both of us as I rolled my hips against his, my grip firm on his shoulders with each thrust. Dan's breath goes short, choppy and hot when I picked up speed. A hand on my thigh stops me and I lean in to another kiss.

"I wish nothing more than to take you, my pet." His tenor tone falling deep into a growl that forced shivers down my spine as his hand splayed over my lower back.

"I would like nothing more, sir. I obey without question." A short take of breath is halted as I nipped at his exposed throat, a tightened grip on his shoulders. "What do you wish of me?"

Hands wander all about my body, down my waist to my thighs, then back to my rear. They rested there and he grinned up at me with mischief lingering in those eyes of his.

"I want to see you."

"How much of me?"

"All of you."

The couch creaked beneath us, and I sat straight up, wetting my lips and I rocked my hips side to side; a sort of slow and desirable dance. My top came first; shrugging off the cardigan and setting it back on the ottoman behind me. Second came the undershirt, worked off with a fervent desire—though the room was chilled, I felt warm, though goose flesh rose all over my body, the fire in my gut continued to burn.

"It seems you've put on a little weight, pet." He comments, lightly slapping my side and chuckling. "Can't let my favorite little toy get too big for me, now can I?"

I stop with my shirt in my hands and look down at him, then quickly off to the side, cheeks burning.

"I-I suppose I've let myself go a little… I'll work it off, master." He pulls me down to taste his kiss once again.

A hum is his response, but I quickly shake off the comment. He's always said this stuff… I'm not _that_ heavy… am I?

"More for you, master?" I whispered against his lips, wishing so desperately to see him beneath those expensive clothes of his.

"More, my pet." His command was set, and I could only obey. His thumbs slipped 'neath the waistline of my jeans and I knelt up on my knees, hands on either side of his head on the back of the couch. Leverage. His fingers worked the button and zip and each shimmy of my hips inched them downwards further.

Hesitating as my jeans hung on my hips, nearly revealing the rest of my body to him, his nails dragged along my side, tracing over my tattoos and tickling me in the worst way possible.

"New markings, love?" his ever cold hand slipped downwards beneath jean and cotton, resting on the rigid length that craved his attention.

"Yes sir." I gasped, resting my head against the side of his neck. "I hope you don't mind them, _dominus._ "

For a moment, he does nothing; his hand remained where it was on my cock, and his gaze trailed down the newer set of ink. He shifted, biting his lip and taking a breath, pulling my drawers down to see the rest of the black that now marked my skin.

"Very nice." A velvet purr sent relief through me, and the exhale came with a sharp intake as he grabbed me again, his thumb working along the shaft towards the base.

"You're not to make a sound unless I say so." His command hurt—but I will obey without question. My briefs are tugged down to my thighs and my cock springs free, and he pushes it right against my stomach. The warmth grows in my gut and his hand fits around the rigid flesh, his lips curled into a wicked smile as he pulls.

Slowly.

He torments me with his touch, releasing it and letting it jerk with need for attention, then dragging those wicked fingers along the underside to elicit some form of a cry from me. He knows I cannot resist it. I can't resist him. I bite my lip hard and suck in a breath. I can't make a sound. I can't.

Eyes squeezed shut as he worked it over again and again, my hips surrendering to the delicious sensation of his grasp and bucking forward few times.

I want to moan. I want to give in but I can't. My head fell back and my breathing fell ragged as I struggled to withhold the moan that wanted to force its way free. His grip vanished. No longer was he pleasing my length.

"You may give in," he says, and I let out a low growl with a half-lidded glare.

"You are so mean." I bare a white grin to him and trail a hand along his jaw, leaving it there as his hands wander and explore my body. Now there was more warmth. A heat spell dazzled his fingertips and trailed all over my body; one playfully kneading through my chest hair, and the other allowed magic-kissed fingers to trail along each dark bar of ink of my tattoos.

I careened my hips against his—and I couldn't resist grinding hard against him—that tense grip melted into my hips and he thrusts against me. I leaned back, quickly resting my hands on his thighs to prevent the inevitable fall backwards. I moaned long and low, a deep and dangerous sound, my throat exposed to him as my head fell back; I felt the old man's teeth against my throat—

Harder and harder, he's thrusting against me and I know damn well he won't give me release until I do it for him. I forced him to stop, gripping his hair to pull him off and look him dead in the eyes.

His pupils were blown wide with desire and some semblance of disapproval of my sudden grapple, in _apology_ ; I reach down and undo his jeans, only breaking eye-contact as I ask;

"What do you wish of me?" My gaze fell to the button that just won't come undone.

"Give me release."

For a moment, I hesitate, fidgeting with his jeans until I can finally pull his length free and take it in hand. My hand works with purpose—to elicit that delicious sound from between cracked lips. I purr, lips parted; then brushing against his—feeling his hot breath on my skin—

"As you wish, my master." Spoken in one breath, the next stolen as his kiss parted my lips, the fading taste of coffee hung there a moment and as we separated, the corners of his lips quirked up. I pulled back, getting to my feet and working the rest of my clothes off, dropping them to the floor, kicking them aside then grinning as his eyes wander all over my body.

"Beautiful." His voice—Maker, I can't handle him. I'm back in his lap, stroking him. Kissing him.

"You're wearing it." Says he with absolute delight, catching the tip of my tongue and holding it—I kind of expected that—giving the silver ball resting on it a good look-over.

"But of course." I pulled back and kiss him again, my grip firm around his length. Another moan was the only thing I needed before I slipped down between his legs and pushed them apart with an ever wicked grin. Opening my mouth, tongue running along the underside, pressing the stud against the sensitive underside—taking the tip only little ways before I pull off and give him the same wicked grin.

"I wear it for you, _dominus_."

When Dan left, there were no people in the hallway, on the landing, or even outside. It was almost as if they were afraid of him or something along those lines. Or it could be that I had completely forgotten that it was a school day and all the brats were in classes and their parents at work.

Definitely my lapse in memory.

I'd showered, dressed once more—this time in my proper _assassin's_ attire—and made for the door. Odin barred my way, his large mass just a lump in the middle of the room, his brown eyes locked on me with a doleful hint of sadness. He whined and butted my calf with his head as I fixed my boots on.

"It's okay, boy, I'll be okay. It's just a simple mission; I'll be home before you know it, like always." Kneeling down to scratch behind his ears, the poor war hound whines again and pushes his head against my chest. I honestly felt pretty poorly for him, he never came along with me on my jobs out of my own worry of him getting killed. I loved him far too much to let that happen.

But he's a good dog, and he's strong. I used to take him on hunts when I needed to make sure someone didn't get away. He was always good backup. He loved the chase.

"Next time I get to crack some skulls, I'll bring ya so you can chew on 'em. Yeah?" His stump of a tail wagged rapidly enough for his rump to catch up.

"That's a good boy." He's on his back, and I scratch his belly. "Good puppy."

Odin yips in response and I stand and cross the room to my duffle. My pistols are still here, so I put them in their respective holsters (courtesy of Dan buying me a new set) and check on Lillith. The rifle is clean, locked, and ready for battle. A jingle catches my attention as the entire bag of my previous payment spills out onto the floor.

Mixed coins, as usual.

Great.

 _The teller is gonna_ love _me today._

Resolve set, I pocket my coin and shoulder my bag. A flick of my wrists and the lights go dim, and a quick snap—my keys come to me.

Advantage of being a mage; you can be lazy.

Odin whines after me as I give him a final loving scratch on the ear and make way to the door. I don't even bother to look at the time as I pull open the door and step into the empty hallway.

The halls were actually quite spacious, for a shitty apartment complex anyway, and several of my neighbors had decided that having potted plants near their doors was a good idea. I don't know why the landlady lets them do it, but I guess it's to make the place look less like a drug hostel and more like a place where families live.

Honestly, it looks the same to me. Alas, no drug addicts live here—at least not anymore. I got rid of him pretty quickly after a little _incident_ happened between him and one of the kids on this floor. I still remember how long he screamed—ah, good times.

Anyway, no one is around for once, which is both suspicious yet perfect. I can make my escape without anyone questioning me or trying to get my attention for once—

Down the steps I went, listening to each heavy footfall on the creaking wooden path with a stupid grin—that all but vanished the very second a shrill scream echoed through the stairwell and several loud banging noises came from below.

 _Ach, shit._

My back hit the wall as four teenagers ran past me. High schoolers by the looks of them, and all of them seemingly loaded with books.

 _How I don't miss my youth._

If I could remember it.

They all passed me, at first without much care, more intent on getting home to do whatever they do, but the leader of their small party had caught a small look at me—and froze. Her eyes gone wide with realization that their 'scary' neighbor was out and about. I stared for a moment, cleared my throat, and continued walking.

I heard heavy breathing, a nervous squeak, and then voices:

" _Maker, is he a scary one or what?"_

 _"_ _Does he always look like he's gonna hurt someone?"_

 _"_ _Jannie, why are you so scared? I could take 'em!"_

 _"_ _N-no. You don't know what he's done. He's hurt people. You can see how his eyes aren't normal—"_

 _"_ _His eyes? What do you mean?"_

 _"_ _They're dark. Evil. He's not a good man."_

 _"_ _That's the one you were talkin' about, yeah? 'e looks like a serial killer."_

 _"_ _I bet he_ is _a serial killer."_

 _"_ _Shit I think he can hear us! Run!"_

 _A serial killer. Well, that's a title I haven't heard in a while—good to know these kids have an imagination, otherwise I'd be in quite a bit of trouble._

As their voices faded off, I smirked and stuffed my hands in my pockets. These people had _no_ idea—or maybe they did. Either way, it's not my problem until they _make_ it my problem. My smile fades to the same solemn look of someone minutely stressed—

 _I'd be in a lot of trouble if they actually knew that they were right._

Letting out a long, drawn out sigh, I continued down the stairs while still listening to my footfalls. There was much less enthusiasm—replaced by the growing desire to just get out and get on with my job.

Another round down the final flight of steps and I can see the door just ahead of me. What I didn't see—was the group of other adults waiting around in the lobby. As soon as my foot hit the landing, a woman cleared her throat and I damn well froze in place.

Turning, I see my _favourite_ neighbor tapping her foot on the tile with her arms crossed, standing as the ringleader of her little clique of shithead parents waiting for their kids to get home.

 _Damn it._

"Hawke." She says in that ever suspicious tone of hers. "How _good_ to see you actually out of the house for once." The little _hm_ she made gave me more than just a little bit of aggravation.

"I'm out of the house quite a lot, darling, you just never see me. It's called having a job and a life. You should go buy one off of QVC." Having accidentally stepped on and tripped over more than one of her damned packages, I'm allowed to be bitter towards her over-spending habits.

Her friend snickers behind her, and silence fills the room. She stares at me, long and hard, her glare attempting to parse whatever wall I've put up around myself. I believe her name is Annie. She's a lot worse than Alyson by a long shot. This nosy wench always tried getting into any and everyone's business if she could, and because I hired someone to watch Odin when I was out, she seems to have gotten it into her mind that I'm a lazy shut-in with no social life whatsoever. Apparently one who couldn't be asked to walk his own fucking dog either?

Oh, how wrong she was, and I wished she'd keep that buck-toothed mouth of hers shut. I'd _like_ to shut her up but there was no hope of her disappearance going ignored. She's got four brats plus her asshole husband in their flat right next door to mine.

The rest of her crew shifted in their place as the sounds of screaming children rang out and a pack of the little shrieking tyrants come running through the doors—see me—and book it behind the herd.

I tried to move out of sight, back towards the stairwell, and the back of my legs hit something small, and back I fell—only managing to save myself with a reflexive grab to the railing. Suddenly there is crying, and as I look down I see a small child pulling herself onto a step, sobbing. I hadn't heard or seen her even come _near_ me. Honestly, I was more than thankful that I hadn't crushed the poor thing, but Maker preserve her mother—who I now heard screaming at me to get away from her child.

I stumbled back over my own feet and scrambled as far away from the screaming creature as I could. Her mother rushed to her aid and crooned to her, while dagger-like stares were locked on me. _Not only_ from the group antagonizing me, but from new on-lookers as well.

Great. Perfect. Wonderful start to my fucking day.

"Such a monster." Annie hissed.

"Keep your rodents on their leash, _lupa._ Next time they may not be lucky if my boot catches them again." The snarl curls from my tongue and I bared my teeth. I stormed towards the door.

Hand on the handle.

"Who was that man?"

 _Shut up._

I froze in place, knuckles already white against the brass handle.

 _Just shut up._

"Your lover? You into old men, now, are you?"

 _She's just antagonizing you to get a rise out of you—keep making threats and she'll call the cops on you again._

"Oh, I bet you he is, isn't he? To think you couldn't be any more of a—"

I let go of the handle and straightened up. Back rigid, breath stifled, temper rising.

Swift on my heel, I face them, and any semblance of calm that I had had been replaced by an unmistakable rage. Every ounce of my being wanted nothing more than for my fist to meet that smart mouth of hers. Every fiber of my being wanted to see her on the floor, writhing in agony, drowning in a pool of her own blood.

I smile at her and crack my neck—and I met her gaze.

I towered over this little woman, my shadowed gaze only enhanced the glow of mine eyes. The aura that had once been nothing but hostile, now radiated with unyielding terror. Oh, she's terrified alright, and I couldn't help myself. Magic pooled against the tip of my tongue, a cool and terrifying sensation, and a stinging burn against my wrists told me to stop.

I wouldn't. The sickening sensation continued on as I opened my mouth, the corners curled into a wicked grin—

" _ut timeant me_."

For a moment, nothing happened, and the burning sensation in my wrists had dissipated. No consequence this time. She stared at me, wide eyed, and took a _deep_ breath as she started to speak—

Standing upright, I stepped back and hurried right out the door. As it closed behind me, I heard her shrieks fill the room. She cries out for someone to get the demons away from her, for someone to make the nightmares end, for someone—anyone—to save her children.

But to them, I had done nothing to her. They knew nothing of my magic, of my wicked ways, and that was perfect.

I stumble, gracelessly, out the front door towards the street. Another graceless trip over a loose brick damn near sent me right into the side of the new Lexus, I did, however, manage to find purchase against it without actually landing on it. Turning, I pressed my back to the sun-warmed shell and folded my hands in front of me. There, I spotted my _other and nosier_ neighbor near hanging out of his window, still watching and judging me.

Typical.

I waved up at him and slip into the new vehicle, just as he slipped back from the window.

Gods this vehicle is small. I don't know why he gave me such a tiny thing.

Ugh.

Adjusting it to fit my ungodly large physique, I curled my fingers around the clean pleather wheel, running my fingers over the ridges and resting on the inner wheel. I set the duffle bag on the seat next to me, adjust my seat, and push the key in the slot.

Keys in.

 _Ignition on!_ The motor roared to life with the power of a great lion, and I wait. Taking in the vibrations and sounds like I had to memorize it. This damn car is still way too small for my liking—

But it's all mine!

Adrenaline courses through my veins as I put it in reverse and back out of its spot, smirking over at the doorway as Annie and co. came running out. The frazzled wench didn't seem to know what to do as I waved from the other side of the car. The tires squealed and I peeled out of there like a madman.

This was going to be fun. I just knew it.

 _I'm going to guess it's going to be the usual place. No changes in location? Good. Don't need that kind of wild goose chase right now._

Downtown Lothering is quite nice during the autumn. Trees taller than most buildings proudly boasting their dying colours of golds, reds, oranges, and browns, then shed unto the streets below. This was the busier part of the city with all the shops and the market square in town center. It's early September, so the city is already preparing for Halloween, even though it's a whole month away.

Not that I'm complaining. I love this time of year.

The city is quite vast and an array of lights wrap about the lampposts and tree trunks. Truly, at night, this city is gorgeous with the spirit of holiday.

A moment of thought amidst the song blasting through the cars speakers, I validate myself with a curt nod. The usual spot is a coffee shop down Lyre Street, and it used to be a favourite place of mine to go when I wasn't working. As it stands, Lothering has become even more of a tourist-trap since the Blight had damn near leveled half of the city, and with tourism comes inexplicable morons who have no fucking idea how to _drive_.

The screech of a horn sounds off in the distance and from the heel of my hand as some group raced through the streets in front of me—and they're _damn_ lucky that I didn't feel like painting my car with crimson.

"Fuckin' Americans."

I withdrew a cigarette and sparked a small flame with a snap of my fingers. Crack open the window a bit and blow a good and steady stream of smoke at some bloke on his bike. From the corner of my eye, I could see a few extra folk wandering about the walkways in packs. Bundled up in the autumnal winds. Made me happier to be in the warmth of my car.

 _Not really._

I'd loathe admitting that I preferred the chill of night over a warm, sunny day. But I do.

Normally, I would have taken the straight-off route to Crossroads, but there was this weird tingling in the back of my mind that told me to go scenic.

By 'scenic' I meant the slums; where being called 'shady' kept most sane folk a good distance from you, and the not-so-much tried their blades against you. I've dealt with the kind that lingered there before, and I had a little unfinished business to attend to. However, I'm on a schedule and I have to get to Calem before he clocks off for the night. He's picky about that; won't give me the missives unless he's working.

" _To preserve my innocence._ " He'd tell me over the phone on more than several occasions. I think it was just because he didn't want to see me outside of work unless there were other things involved. Or maybe he was just that much of a coward.

 _Fuckin' pansy._

Over the waves of traffic and several double-decked busses, the Crossroads' sign was _just_ visible and in my current line of sight. This part of town has more parallel parking spaces than parking garages, and people are assholes when it comes down to them. As I made to pull in to one, a smart car ducks its way in, the owner looking rather smugly up at me.

She's an elf. Pale golden eyes, white hair tied back with a maroon ribbon, and a necklace—that I swore I had seen before. In a dream, maybe.

Spiked with red eyes glaring up at me, a dragons head—"My eyes are up here, young man." She spoke, not like a young woman, but like her voice had aged, and she in the wrong body. "Do you see something you like?" she laughs, and my attention went right back to her eyes.

They were… almost ethereal.

 _Creepy._

As I glare at her, she parks, puts her coins in the meter, and walks off. I watch her go.

 _I'll remember her._ _I want that necklace._

I managed to secure a parking space moments after my little daze passed, and stepped out into the open. I'm ready for anything. The streets were far more crowded than I had originally thought they would be and for a moment I paused in question, then was abruptly shoved aside by a group of the bastards that were trying to get into the store in front of me. And as quickly as I had seen them, they all but vanished into the building—

 _Well, that's a little weird._

Shaking my head, I cracked my neck and continued on deeper into the shopping district of Lothering. With the crosswalks being as crowded as they were, I was more or less hindered with every step I tried to take. With babbling women and children to my right, men who seemed to go out of their way to avoid making eye contact on my left and old people in front of me, it was a damn miracle I didn't just _force_ them all out of my way.

Thankfully the crowds thinned as I passed beneath the gateway; some overly fancy archway that our mayor had thought was a _lovely_ addition to the city.

 _I beg to disagree._

Being the prominent shopping district of this city, it was ripe with activity and people wandering about with armloads of shopping bags with a very grotesque amount of bags being carried by very small people that would probably wind up dropping or losing half of their purchases. Fashionable folk, I suppose, preparing for the coming winter. A young woman on had her face glued to the screen of her phone, and she walked right into me. Recoiling with stammered apologies, she finally tore her eyes from the mobile and looked right up at me. Her unusually pale cheeks lit up rosy and the look in her eyes was something of confusion and sudden admiration.

It was weird.

Even as she tried to apologize, I figured she'd take ages so I merely gave her a wink and a smirk, and then gingerly walked past her.

"No worries, love, all good."

I could feel a glare pointed at me, but there's no more time to piss away with lame thoughts. _Just cross the street and get on with it._

I crossed the street as quickly as I could as the coffee house came in to view. It's a simple shop; large windows that let in a lot of light, a nice outdoor place to sit and drink or what have you, the walls an off-black shade with white accents, and the door hinged open. Two people walk out, and I walk right on in.

If you've ever been hit by something, maybe it would have been as pleasant as the delightful scent of fresh brewed coffee, muffins, and books. This place…

I love this shop.

Honestly? It was the only place I was able to go when I needed to just get away from the insanity of my daily life. This was where I could be 'normal' like the rest of the patrons here. Here, it has a rustic look; old oak tables, dark stone walls, dark wood floor, a fireplace off near the back of the building where people were reading some books. A light fixture, that I've seen still lighting up this room for the past six years, made of antlers—it sent out a beautiful shadowed pattern on the polished table tops and the bar.

I could have stood there all day, and I so desperately wanted to, but I had a job to do. And my objective stood right behind the counter, cleaning out a mug.

Tall, fair skin, wild ginger hair pulled back into a ponytail, and fierce green eyes. His name was Calem. An Irishman come here (of all places) to open up this shop. He knows me, we've known each other intimately, and surprisingly, he's a pretty cool guy. I approached the counter and leaned against it, smirking to the pretty lad.

"Hey there, handsome, long time no see."

I swear I haven't seen someone jump like he did. Did he really not see me walk in? Nice.

"Saints alive, Hawke, don't _do_ that!" That accent of his is unbelievably sexy and I'm not even going to freaking deny it. I noticed someone flinch at the mention of my name—I have kind of a reputation with certain people—thankfully most people don't know me.

"Don't do what? Walk in like a perfectly normal human being?"

"Yes, but you _creep_." Calem had set the mug down and set his hand on his hips.

"You know why I'm here, _sweetheart_." The glare he gave was nullified by the reddened cheeks and half-assed smile.

"I've told you to not call me that, Hawke." He was still smiling even with his attempt at intimidation. "But yes, I know why you're here, not here to set up an evenin' together, huh?"

"Unfortunately, I'm not." His face fell a moment, then twisted up in thought and nodded.

"I know why you're here, I'll be right back." Patting the counter once, Calem turned as quick on his heel and vanished.

I've never wanted to slip behind the counter so badly before in my entire life—and since no one was around…

Who was I kidding? I wasn't about to let him leave me behind—besides, I could use a little outlet before a big contract. I lifted the slot blocking the way and hurried after him. He damn well knew that I wouldn't let him leave me alone at the counter, and he owed me my damn contract plus some extra.

His footsteps vanished down the corridor—and I wasn't expecting the hallway to be so… lengthy. Glancing about, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary other than Calem no longer being in my line of sight.

What was worse, the halls seemed to go on forever into darkness. Doors on either side of me, all locked. From what I was able to see, there was a stairway to my left, so I headed up to the second floor. I was met by yet another hallway. Heading down, this was more decorated and there were more locked doors. Fewer, but still enough to pique my interest, and my desire to pick the locks. One door, however, caught my eye. The door slightly ajar and a pale sliver of light fit through.

"Wow, you're so impatient that ya followed me up here? Come on in." Calem's voice behind the door.

Opening the door, I slipped inside and was greeted with his back to me. He shuffled about the contents of the oak desk, mostly papers and books, and finally pulled an envelope into his grip. I approach with intent, and stop right behind him. Calem paused, stood upright, and gave me a sly little grin over his shoulder.

"I never said I wasn't looking for a quick encounter, my dear." My hands trail along his sides and I lean against him, chuckling. Calem doesn't move, but he grins and leans back against my chest, his head tilted back.

"First of all." He says, a folded piece of parchment slapped to my face. I blinked once and took the offered envelope. "You need your missives. I'll let you know more… _After_ , we get on with your little…"

I didn't let him finish. My lips met his bared neck and each feathery kiss trailed up to his jaw. A nip to his skin—he gave a soft groan and planted his hands on the desk. Keeping himself level, he leaned forward and let my hands feel up his sides and slip beneath his shirt, resting an open palm against his chest. He craned his neck and I leaned hard against him, a mock thrust brought out a gasp, and he'd turned to look back at me. His cheeks flushed and his eyes half-lidded with desire. Calem bit his lip and, in quick motions, he started unbuttoning his shirt. I pulled back and flipped him around to face me, a wicked grin on my lips now pressed firm against his. The desk shifts and creaks beneath his weight as he sits back upon it, now with me pressed firm between his legs. Lips parted and an inviting moan, he wrapped his arms around my neck, knitting his fingers into my hair. When we parted to breathe, he lay back and opened a drawer, retrieving the vial and setting it right next to him. His trousers and smalls came off rather easily, and I dropped them to my side.

"I'm always prepared, Hawke." Calem eyed my form, and pulled himself upright. I worked at myself out of my trousers and quickly readied myself. It took, perhaps, a few moments, to stretch him enough that I was able to move about freely and didn't have to worry about actually hurting him. He took my cock to the base and the way his eyes widened—his head fell back and he actually let himself fall back against the desktop.

This needed to be quick and I needed to get going—but fuckin' hell his ass was amazing. Thick hands gripped tight his hips, and each thrust elicited such delightful sounds from parted lips. His breath hitched, his entire body shuddering with each quick meeting of our bodies, and he grabbed hold of the collar of my shirt and pulled me to a hot kiss. Tongues met, exploring the warmth of each other's' mouths and silencing his growing cries of pleasure. Arms wrapped around my neck, fingers in my hair, legs locked around my hips, I couldn't stop from going harder—faster. Nails dug into the wooden desktop, fingers going white from the strain, and a hoarse growl pulled from me—

 _This was bliss._

He cried my name over and over, and eventually had to let go and get himself off. The climax was near, and with a few more powerful thrusts and a nicely placed smack to that beautiful ass of his—my entire body went rigid, hands splayed on either side of him as he lay there, and a final kiss to swollen and slightly bruised lips—I gave a hoarse growl of immense pleasure with the warmth of seed filling his hole. I leaned back only enough just as he pushed himself over the edge and his cum shot onto his stomach and hand.

Waiting. Watching those beautiful eyes close, and him wet his dried lips. Each pant of breath, and an arm finally thrown over his eyes, even still he managed to look beautiful. This beautiful human—I've fallen for him hard—but there was no hope for any 'us' to happen. Still, I couldn't stop smiling.

I pulled myself free of his body and just examined him—when he finally sat himself upright, he pulled out a cloth from his drawer and threw it at me. I cleaned off, then helped him clean up.

It was short, and it was very nice. Zipped up again and another gentle peck—he pushed me back with a snort and looked towards the window a moment.

"You know you're only hurting yourself by doing this." Calem dressed himself and frowned. Of course, he knew that I liked him—I mean, I _told_ him a good year or two ago that I did. I don't think he felt the same for me, but he's open enough to want to have sex with me, so I really can't complain too much… but he had a point.

It does hurt.

"I know." I crossed my arms. "But you know I can't resist you and your charm."

"It's a curse, I tell ya. Anyway, about your mission-" On to business. Good.

"What's the word?"

"You know, the usual nonsense of that guild of yours, anyway, there's strife going on overseas in the Free Marches. Y'know how it is with the 'war' of Templars and Mages."

"Yeah, I do." Pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. This 'war' was getting far more intense for both sides, and I've wound up in more than enough battles of Templar versus Mage. It's utter nonsense. "I've had it with this bullshit."

"Aye." Calem nodded then jerked his head to the missive sticking out of my pocket.

"Now, your mission is simple, there are coordinates for the next hit, and who your target will be. You know how it works. You've done this for damn near half your life."

"You know, if I remembered correctly, they never let you just hand me off a piece of paper and tell me to fuck off. What's up?" I leaned over him, pressing him back against his desk. He didn't make any move to back up, but gave me a desperate look.

"They won't let me read the missives. They said you were the only one allowed to see it. Believe me, I tried to look at it and it gave me…" he takes a breath, "quite a shock."

 _The hell? It's enchanted? Why would they do that? It must be pretty important then if Calem isn't even allowed to look at it first._

"So it's on the go?"

"On the go. So you'd better, ah, get to it." This isn't suspicious in the slightest. Not one bit.

 _Nope._

It cannot be helped whether or not I'm allowed to know on the spot as to what I'm putting my damn life on the line to complete. I wonder who it could be though, someone powerful? A CEO? Someone of high importance? _Maybe the Viscount of Kirkwall_.

My thoughts were interrupted by a pair of lips against mine, and hands on my chest. Instinctively, my hands rest on his lower back, and when Calem pulled back, I found myself aching again.

It was so wrong of me to do this but hell, I don't care anymore. I miss being able to actually have fun with people. _Fun_ being a very… vague term.

Calem backed off and basically shoved me out the door.

"I'll be here if you need me, you know my number just fine, yeah?"

Yeah. Yeah I do.

As I left the building, a cup of coffee in hand, the hollow feeling in my chest returned and I stopped dead a foot from the doorway. Honestly, I curse this heart. It has gotten me into far more trouble than I've ever deserved—Dan was, admittedly, ruthless when it came to my affections for other people. He never approved of me sleeping around with other people, and I understood that, however, my job works out better when I get information after a _wonderful_ night spent with a client or enemy. Plus, I quite enjoy sex.

That being said, the consequences of Danarius finding out were… Not worth it in the end. I love him, but sometimes he can be a bit mean.

I snap out of my stupor and quickly make my way out of an irritated young woman's path as she pushed past me into the coffee house.

 _Rude._

Down the road I went; the envelope hot between my fingers as if I knew that I was going to be looking through it the second I got in my car. In the distance, sirens scream to the heavens, and an ambulance zips past through the streets. Dark clouds hang over in the sky, and a chilling wind tugs through. Autumn was here, and autumn was not going to let up. A crowd gathered in the center of town, distant mumbling and panicked crying from bystanders.

I elbowed my way through the group to see the commotion and—it's a qunari. Dead. I hadn't even heard anything happen—but she's there—a bullet hole right between the eyes. The police gathered and tried to keep the bystanders back while they dealt with the body.

"Another one." one says. I keened my ear to them, listened.

"Fifth one this week." says another.

 _Another what?_

"The Templars are out of control, killing mages outright in the streets. Don't they know that there are _laws_?"

"They seem to believe they're above our laws. That the Maker himself commanded them to hunt and kill the poor sods."

"You saw who it was, right? Knight-Commander Greagoir."

"From Kinloch Hold? What the hell is he doing all the way out here?"

 _He's hunting. Isn't it obvious?_

"I dunno, but what I do know is that he needs to be taught a lesson on the value of some folks lives."

"Tch, qunari are better off dead n' you know it."

"That's a disgusting way to think of things."

Disgusting indeed. More mages being hunted down in the streets and left to rot upon their deaths. The world is a dangerous place, and I didn't want to be the next one to wind up in the morgue. As quickly as I have elbowed my way through to see the body, I pushed my way back out and made a beeline for my car. There was no way that I was going to let myself get caught up in more of this nonsense.

Again, I heard gunshots go off in the distance, this time in the direction of the alienage. Poor elves didn't know what was coming.

I shudder, violently, as I fell into my seat, closing and locking the door behind me. The city may have been lovely, but it has its own danger of Templars coming and doing what they wanted. It's nerve-wracking. They claim to be of the law, but I damn well know better, they're as crooked as I. Murderers with a badge, they are.

I pitied that poor woman's family. She looked like she was a mother, a wife. She'll be missed so long as the Templars don't slaughter her family too. They've done it before, and I wouldn't doubt that they wouldn't do it again to save their hides the wrath of the law. Templars have caused more than enough trouble, I think.

Keys in, turning over the motor, I waited a few moments before pulling out of the parking space. In the back of my mind an itch still lingered, unsatisfied even with the quick encounter with Calem, and I knew I had to get the fix before I opened the envelope. This time I turned left at the light and made my way towards the slums.

I call it the slums not because it was run down or shoddy, but because it has become the localized lowlife shit pile of this city. A perfect place to go for a quick hunt. Even though my senses still hazed over from sex, I could keep myself vigilant as I drove along the slightly less than crowded pathways. There were few pedestrians around this time and I could definitely pick off one or two of them. But as it were, my vehicle warranted some unkind attention. Glares like annoying pinpricks, to be exact.

Stopped at a light, I quickly looked about in hopes of spotting someone for a good kill. She moved with purpose down the road like nothing mattered. Strutting down the roads towards home with a couple extra bags on each arm and despite being laden with all sorts of purchases, no one dared approach her. Not even the small group of men that looked like they'd jump the next person they saw. In fact several of them ducked for cover as she passed them by.

The look in her eyes—those eyes spoke murder.

Something wasn't right about that woman—however my thoughts were interrupted by a rapping on the window to my left. Slowly, I turned to face whoever it was. It was a scruffy kid, a teenager or something around the age where you do the stupidest shit possible and see how much you can get away with. A dumb look on his face, he hadn't even tried to hide his identity.

 _Amateur_.

I wanted to roll down the window and be the snarky piece of shit I've always been, but I didn't even have to as he started slamming on the window and shouting out his muffled threats.

"Get out of the car!" Another good punch to the window and he reeled back in pain. A finger swollen. I covered my mouth but my shoulders gave away the laughter—well fuck it—I just let out a good laugh and quickly reach into my coat as two more approach—this time with a bat.

It's a damn good thing the windows come down quick, else I'd have to find some excuse as to why they were broken. However, I did not let them get too close as I retrieved one of my favorite girls from the holster, a 1911 .45 Desert Eagle, a name etched into the grip, _Harbinger_ , aimed right for the kids. They didn't seem to take the threat too seriously, even when I pulled back the hammer.

Right. That's how you're gonna be. A sick grin twisted upon on my lips as I slowly squeezed the trigger, dragging my thumb across my throat in turn. Watching them. Whoever got closer was going to get it right in the chest. However, the light turned green and I slammed on the gas, letting the bullet fly and, unfortunately, missing the kid entirely. The kids made a run for it, and I got out of there as quickly as possible.

Screeching down the road and windows rolled back up, I found a good spot to park and take cover. Something caught my attention, though.

A strange sensation trickled down my spine and into my mind as I stepped out into the alley. I was being watched. Not by any normal means, no, there was a mage nearby. A dangerous one by how the aura felt.

"You." A voice called. I turned quickly to see her silhouette in the light. She looked different. It was that elf again. Right? "I know why you're here, young man." Her steps light, soundless and intimidating, and her eyes still held the look of murder. Skin once taut and clear, now aged and wrinkled like an old woman. And she was no longer even elven. A human woman stood before me in strange garb. A skirt of leather trailed from one hip, and her hair tied up in some odd horn-like patterns. Altogether her garb seemed more primal than modern, and yet something about it seemed to suit her perfectly.

"Who are you?" I demanded, pressing back against my car with a hand on the pistol.

"You should know who I am." She jeers, approaching slowly. "Everyone knows my name be it only in passing or in stories."

"I'm looking for a name, lady, not some cryptic nonsense."

The old woman regarded me a moment, then crossed her arms and leaned on the wall.

"Such bark for a chained pup, don't you think? Surely your master doesn't approve of such guff."

How did—

"I know many things, young man." She purrs, sashaying towards me and resting an open palm against my chest. I freeze in place, eyes wide and locked on her.

"Who. Are. You?" I ask again.

"Me?" She laughs. "Oh, I go by many names."

"What are you? A witch?"

The old hag smirked at me, "Some call me that; the Witch of the Wilds." My breath caught in my throat and I could feel myself involuntarily shaking with fear. "Commonly I am known as Flemeth. By the Dalish, Asha'Bellanar. Or an old hag who talks too much."

"Flemeth." I repeated out loud, a waver in my voice.

"I know why you're here."

"Why am I here?"

"You're here to kill me. For my necklace, wasn't it? You were so intrigued by it that some might have thought you'd fallen so far as to ogle an old woman's chest." She flicked my chin and my daze snapped free. "But I know mortal men better than most with their hearts desires." The witch pulled away and slunk off to the shadows a moment. "Your heart tells you many things, does it not? That you love this man who had taken you, _bought_ you ten years ago? That you'll do anything for him including murder the innocent? That you question his love for you even now?"

She's in my head— _get out of my head!_

"You think yourself free, but the chains will never be broken." I can't handle it—I cover my ears and shake my head.

"No! You're wrong! He would never—He'd—He'd never!"

"He'd never let you be free so long as he owns you." A finger pressed to my chest, I fall back against the car without breath, feeling tears try to force their way through.

"You want my necklace?" The wicked woman gently removed it from her neck and held it out to me, the dragons head swinging on the chain. "I have a proposition for you. It appears fate smiles favorably upon this meeting." My hand outstretched on its own, and she placed the necklace in my hand and curled my fingers over the cold metal trinket. I gawked at her with a racing heart.

"Take this amulet and speak to the Dalish Keeper Marethari of Clan Sabrae."

"Where will I find her?"

"Sundermount, of course."

"That's in the Free Marches. I've no reason to be going there."

The old witch only gave me a knowing smile, one that terrified me, and placed a kiss upon my forehead.

"Stay safe, young Hawke, for the end is only just the beginning. Trials await you. The only question being: will you be able to handle them?"

I blinked, and she was gone. Warmth emanated from my mind and washed over my entire body.

Slowly, I look to my left, to my right, and then down to the shining amulet in my shaking hand. I survived a meeting with Flemeth. This is… That was unheard of.

The thoughts fled my mind as I subconsciously unclasped the necklace and replaced it around my neck, letting the dragons head hide beneath my shirt.

It's still cold, even after being in my hand.

There will be no murders here.

I turned my back to there the witch once stood, then quickly got back into my car and hurried out of that part of town as quickly as I could—and even then, the sounds of sirens still echoed around me.

A firefight rang out as I sped past an old school building, and the police were on the scene almost immediately but I didn't care, this was not for me and I was not going to deal with police.

I needed my own sanctuary to read these damn details—

A gunshot startled me into a panicked swerve—in the rearview mirror I see the corpse of the man who had started the entire ordeal drop to the middle of the road with his brain scattered all about.

This is not right—why do I feel so panicked? This is… This is normal for me. I don't scare so easily. No. Not at all.

I hadn't realized that I was going to hit rush-hour by the time I made it out of Lothering, and it was bumper to bumper traffic. At a standstill with the radio playing some song that I pretty much ignore, I took this as an opportunity to gather my thoughts and pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes for that moment—

Why did Flemeth approach _me_? Of everyone she could have spoken to, why did it have to be me?

Well, at least she didn't kill me, but _damn_ is she scary in person. There were all sorts of stories involving her, and only very few people had actually survived an encounter with her—maybe she was just in a forgiving mood for… someone like me who had come to just off her right then and there.

Or maybe she had other motives behind talking to someone like me.

But I'm alive _and_ I have her necklace.

Traffic seems to be moving again, and whatever the hold-up had been seems to have been cleared out, so I'm able to get moving again.

Who will be my victim today? I've gotten neither a vision, nor a text to signify anything of grandeur importance yet, so maybe it's just another shitty mission to keep me busy.

A couple miles down the highway, and I feel it coming—the headaches. My vision blurs and I'm forced to pull over onto the side of the road to wait it out. My head is swimming and I'm seeing double of everything, and leaning back against my chair didn't do much good for me. The car idles, and pinching the bridge of my nose, there's a sharp pain in the back of my skull.

I can't breathe.

Pain seethes as I sit there, slamming on the hazards, and squeeze shut my eyes. Light hurts. Sound hurts. Even trying to swallow makes me feel like I'm suffocating, like something is clamped around my throat and tightening each second. I reach for my phone but find my hand paralyzed, shaking violently. Hand back on the center console—it comes.

My vision goes dark—and in place comes a string of light that suddenly expands into a hazy imitation of a dream. Denerim. The Royal Palace coming into view and there, atop the balcony, he stands tall, overlooking his subjects with pride. King Alistair Theirin, with his wife, the Queen Astrid Amell, on his arm. His hand rested on her swollen belly. I still don't understand what is happening—I can't—I can't assassinate the king. I may be a murderer, but to kill a monarch is a death sentence that even I do not wish to have upon my head…

However, the vision was not directed to them. It shimmered and soon I faced a pair of fierce blue eyes. They were the sullen eyes of the Warden Commander. I watch as he backs into the crowd and disappears like he was never there. His companion, the beautiful, tanned Antivan assassin followed shortly after him. The vision remained stagnant on the two of them, then only on the Warden's companion—and associate of mine—for some time before his soft gaze roused me from the vision.

I gasp and lurch forward against the steering wheel, eyes wide and beads of sweat dripping down my cheeks. Each gasp hurt—like the air was trying to suffocate me—and the burning in my head wouldn't go away. I punch the steering wheel and manage to calm my breathing, but this is really disturbing. My chest stops heaving and I wipe at my brow and shake my head. Both hands rest on the wheel, my gaze turned down to my lap.

"I… They want me to get rid of Zevran?" My voice doesn't even sound like my own. My body doesn't even feel like my own. Everything around me spins, and my hand goes right towards the envelope in my pocket. Slowly, I unfold the note and look at it with shaking hands.

 _H,_

 _Denerim. Alienage. Pick-up. You'll know what it is._

 _-B_

That… That doesn't tell me anything! This fucking thing was enchanted and _this_ is the fucking result!? No. This isn't going to fucking fly with me. Not today. No one said anything about a pick up. They would have _told_ Calem if there had been a pick-up or a drop-off. What the actual fuck is going on!?

 _They've never been so vague with me—is there something big that they had to be so secretive about that I couldn't be allowed to know of it right off the bat?_

 _I'll know what it is? Yeah, right, it could be any number of things._

The angry grumbling continued as the paper was balled within my fist. I whipped it at the window, flicked off the hazards, and floored it back onto the highway.

I haven't gotten a pick-up for a mission in _years_ so how come all of the sudden I'm getting one? Do they not trust my skills anymore? Fucking guild of mine must have done this wrong—it has to be wrong. Livid beyond words, the radio blares some song that I don't recognize and my mind keeps switching back and forth between confusion and absolute rage. First off, Zevran and Theron were in that vision, which cannot be good for either of them if _I'm_ being sent to get rid of them.

Second, why?

Why am I being sent out to kill someone who had defected from a rival organization _ages_ ago. My guild wouldn't want him dead unless he's done something to one of our own…

Slamming on the brakes and a sharp turn of the wheel, I turn off onto the ramp towards Denerim. This is not how things are supposed to go. My heart pounds in my ears, and all I can think about it how weird today has been—but that thought is short-lived as car nearly slams right into me. I only just manage to avoid collision and swerve off through a light—

Left, another left, and straight on until the city.

I recognize several landmarks of the city; the great gateway leading in and out of one of the cities' main entrances, the massive buildings that made Lothering look like a village, and the palace off in the distance, still visible even with the fog.

The clock says it's around 4 in the afternoon, so that tells me I've wasted a lot of time just pissing around Lothering—damn it!

As I head through the city, I pull over into a parking space and wait. The paper said the Alienage, so that's where I'm headed. It's through the Market.

Right then. Guns are here, I'm all dressed up to kill, and I've got an itch to pull the trigger. I grab my phone, shut off the car, stow them in pocket, and step out onto the road. Locking the car, I stride to the walkway and make my way towards the market. I've been here before, so I know where it is.

A scowl tugged at the corners of my lips as I remembered Calem's face when he told me about the shock. He's one of the top fences in the guild! I don't know why they'd withhold something important from him. Especially regarding kills. None of this settled well with me, and in my gut I could just _feel_ that something was going to go wrong. But there's no point in trying to pass off gut feelings, even though mine are sometimes right. It could just be from Calem—willingly kissing me…

I pushed the thought of him out of my mind. He's just an easy lay that uses me—that's all he is. That's what they _all_ are. Bitter thoughts aside, and my hands in my coat pockets, I'm on alert, and my gait has been set as I push my way through the crowded sidewalk towards the market. It's going to be even busier there now that the holidays are coming up. There's no time to admire the city, I don't have the time for it anymore. I have to finish this mission before sunset or else I'm gonna get it from Dan. Quick glances about my surroundings give me enough information to know where I'm headed.

A festival is in tow, a memorial to those that lost their lives at Ostagar during the Blight, and a celebration of victory to the one who had saved them all. I saw the statue in the center of the market, a proud figure with his head held high and a Mabari at his side. The King himself. Alistair. So this was why I saw him and the queen. It was pointing me towards my goal. The king himself settled at the foot of the statue, smiling and laughing with the people. Astrid was nowhere to be found, and soon, the King had rushed off with a wide grin and he'd shouted;

"IT'S TIME! I'M GOING TO BE A FATHER!"

His heir was to be born, it seems.

A Qunari rushes past me and slammed into my shoulder with a pitiful apology being lost to the cheers and whoops of revelers. People parted quickly for me as I moved. The intent in my eyes spoke murder, and I walk with authority. Around me, there are banners of many colours hanging from windows, clotheslines, and around the railings and lampposts that dappled about the streets. People dressed for the autumn winds, and the celebrations at hand. Now, where is the alienage?

There's always some kind of giant tree that they have there, right? What did they call it? The _Vhenadahl?_ Something like that. It's nearly impossible to miss—and I can just make it out over a few buildings. I quickly turned to see someone—a familiar face—duck into the crowd. For a moment, I stand there like a fool questioning his existence, and then an abrupt push from behind. I wheel about to find no one behind me, but catch the eyes of an elf just as the crowds thin—and he ducks back towards the alienage. I look back up towards the giant tree and then hurry my way after the elf. I caught a good glimpse of him: Long, dark hair, fierce blue eyes, a pretty face, and a white longbow strapped across his back. I know him from somewhere, I just know it!

He stopped, spun to face me, cracked a smile, and then bolted off into the crowd again.

"Hey!" I shout after him. My voice is lost to the cacophonous marketplace so I hurry after him once again, nearly slipping through puddles of water. Several missing stones in the road nearly sent me to eat pavement had I not kept my wits about me. A flash of soft blue nearby caught my attention, and tailing the elf became the last thing on my mind.

 _A wisp._

Being attuned to the magical elements of this world, I've always been able to see things most others can't. Wisps are one of those things. They're little entities that are manifested when there is a great presence of magic nearby, and they're always where I need to be. While wisps are usually easy to follow, it's hard to not look as suspicious as to actively seek them out. Passive perception is a godsend and magic intuition even more so. However, people send to trample them and snuff them out as quickly as they can manifest. Most people don't realize they do this, but I've become seriously aware of this phenomenon as I've grown.

I caught sight of two more wisps off to my right before a clumsy oxman stumbles over them and destroys the poor things. Such is life, unfortunately. As I follow the trail of wisps, the magical energy suddenly increases as I get closer to the alienage. Elves have always been magical creatures, whether they could cast it or not, just being near them could give you an uneasy sense of serenity—and that's just what I was feeling as I passed through the gates. The Vhenadahl looms overhead in all her majesty; with boughs of vibrant reds, golds, and oranges dappling her crown, she was the true majesty of this kingdom.

A chorus of song echoes to my left, and gathered there is a party—a wedding, it seems, with a lovely young blonde elven maiden standing atop a platform with her groom just across from her.

How sweet.

Suddenly, I see the elven man rush past the Vhenadahl and vanish once again—I follow out of instinct, and before me hovers a great wisp. Larger than the others, and freely floating about. The feeling of being watched intensified as some of the wedding-goers locked eyes onto me and stared me down. The air around me grew tense, though the jovial atmosphere managed to break through the first time. The wisp leads me towards a pile of rubble. A hidden crate, no doubt. Probably contraband or something illegal. Go figure.

My pulse quickens, and my breaths fall short. A hand coaxed into my coat and rested on my pistol, every second counts. I moved away from the happy crowd and as their voices faded, I was met with a disturbing and empty silence. It was as if I had walked into a vacuum. Or so I had thought until I scared myself on a crunchy leaf. Through puddles and fallen leaves I made a beeline towards the goal. Blue energy shimmered around it, so this has to be the right thing.

"What an odd place to put a pick-up." I mutter to myself, kneeling to grab hold.

As I reached forward, a mechanical whirring sound breaks the silence and is accompanied by a bright flash of light—the burn of fire against my skin and a loud crack that echoed to the heavens. A glyph hovered above where the charred remains of the crate lay. One that signified finality.

 _Finality._

 _Death._

No…

NO!

It's a trap!

All means of common thought fled my mind as another sharp crack from above and a powerful shove against my chest, I fall. To the ground with the wind knocked free of my lungs. I lay there, dazed, until searing pain coursed through my shoulder. Immediate instinct is to put pressure against it to make it stop hurting—so I did—and it's wet. Lifting my hand, there's blood.

 _I've been shot._

 _Oh Maker, I've been shot!_

Suddenly a hail of bullets ricochet from the stonework around me, and I scramble to my feet and just run. The screaming of a bride for her wounded groom, the cries of people being mercilessly assaulted for no reason, the very sound of my own heart in my ears.

I run. As fast as I can. Stumbling over my own feet, another bullet grazed my side. Two more make contact with my right arm. I can't hide. Maker, damn my height! Maker damn this day!

Out of the corner of my eye I spot the glint of metal of the barrel of a gun, and on turn I pull out my own and fire. Glass shatters, and the gunman is silenced. Adrenaline rushes through my veins as another bullet catches my side—and I retaliate with my own flurry of shots. I can see them.

I can seem them.

I wasn't trained by the best to not be able to see my prey.

Heat whizzed past my head, and I felt it necessary to turn tail and run once again. Suddenly the air around me is ripe with bullets and gunshots. All aimed at me.

An explosion rocks the street just ahead of me, and several more followed suit. Tendrils of smoke spiral to the sky and are carried off by the wind, and sudden panic breaks out through the market. I can't see the assailants any longer. Chaos broke free in the square, and the once jovial atmosphere now choked with fear.

I look to my palm, ignoring the vibrant blue of the brands on my wrist, and summon forth my magic.

Green envelopes my hand and I quickly press a finger to my temple. _Hasten my escape!_ Everything is in fast forward. I zip through the crowds and break out onto the busy road, now thrown into chaos as a bullet takes the life of one of the drivers and their vehicle veers and crashes into another, and two more follow. Taking the chance, I leap over one of the halted cars and continue running—now I could feel it. My energy failing me, my speed returned to normal, and with every drop of blood that I lost, my entire instinct of fight or flight, just becomes flight. Another bullet to the chest—

I have to get away. I can't stay here. My car had been one of those explosions, I saw it now, smoldering.

"Shit!" I curse, letting loose another shot as one of the assailants made themselves known. The shot missed and each successive pull of the trigger found me with an empty mag for both of my guns. A rumble to my left, something hits me broadside and throws me to the ground.

Ringing in my ears. I turn to my side and cough. A good glob of blood spattered the ground below me. I'm weak from blood loss. My breath all but gone. Painful breaths take their toll.

I forced myself to my hands and knees and let out a whine through gritted teeth.

This was what the vision was about—Mahariel, Alistair, and the wisps… This wasn't a mission for me to do. This was my final mission. They want me dead.

 _Dan_ wants me dead—but I thought we—I thought he loved me!

The ringing fades and footsteps approach, followed by a heavy boot finding purchase into my ribs that sent me sprawled out on my back once again. A lit cigarette caught between his teeth, he stands there with a wicked grin and a gun in hand.

 _Brennan._

"Y'know, Hawke, I don't know why you didn't realize what was going on. I thought you were smarter than that."

 _What?_

"You honestly think Danarius would spend that kind of coin on someone that he wanted to keep around?"

 _Keep around? But he loves me!_

Tears streak from my eyes and I snarl up at him.

"What, did you think that he actually _loved_ you, Gare?" Brennan's laughter cuts me through the core, and I try to speak, but end up choking on my own blood.

"So, you _really_ thought that he—? Wow, he got you good, huh? Kid, he _owns_ you. He's owned you since the day you came back with him. You're not one of his lovers, brat, you're a _slave_. And you'll always be his slave—well, technically, not after today you won't. I'm afraid he's decided to relieve you of such a pitiful state of being. So," Brennan presses the barrel to my forehead, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Say hi to the Maker for me, alright?"

With every last ounce of strength I had, I grabbed onto his ankle and channeled every ounce of magic I had—and electricity coursed through my arm to him, and up—

" _Die._ "

An agonizing scream. The final pull and crack of thunder—then darkness.


	3. The Dark of Denerim

White light envelopes me, blinding, cold, unforgiving. It felt too much like the grave and yet, I did not feel cold. Floating in white nothingness; I am alone and I am afraid. I open my eyes slowly. I squint and shield my gaze from the illuminated world around me. It hurts to move, but still I try and look about me with hope of catching the glimpse of anything that could possibly be familiar.

All I see is the expanse of white—until gold trickles around me through some ethereal means. Slowly the ground formed; a lush, verdant field springs forth and spirals beneath my feet. Flowers of all colours bloom and reach towards a now sun-lit sky.

Whatever force that had kept me suspended now gently let me onto my feet, where I collapsed to my knees. Still, I haven't taken a breath, and as I do my lungs are assaulted by seething cold. White hot agony rakes through my body with each gasp of air. The ground raced to meet my face as I dropped onto my side, heaving and struggling to even gather what was going on around me. Pain in my head, pulsing and growing far too prominent for my liking. But I lay there, my fingers curling into the dirt, and the warmth of earth against the side of my head.

Where am I? I so desperately want to speak, but as I do, a heavy force slams into my stomach and all that comes forth is a mist of crimson that sprays into the air, and hangs there. Swirling and twisting into images of the past. A second, I close my eyes, and when I opened them once more there no longer was a cloud of blood, for where it had been now stood a woman.

Long, black hair gently tossed over her right shoulder, a piercing blue gaze that seemed to bore into my very soul, and skin the same colour as mine. An outfit of red, she wore with a black sash about her waist. She stares at me with a tear-filled gaze, and she cries. It looked as if the blue of her eyes streaked down her cheek in gentle droplets that sprouted bright flowers at her feet.

She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come forth and instead, only the faint call of a siren. I closed my eyes again and covered my ears as the wailing grew louder.

A loud crack from in front of me and pain rushes through my head again. The world falls black and all I hear is the crackle of gravel near my head. To my feet, I was able to stand as my entire body was thrown forward and forced into a stiff halt before an obsidian obelisk. The entity loomed high over a world now forced into a faded color.

For a moment, I stared at the obelisk, questioning each rune that lit up red along its side. I recognized some of them. This is scary.

I tried to reach out this time, and my legs move automatically towards the first rune I see. It is cool to the touch, and radiates with some superior form of magic.

"Rebirth" it says.

 _Rebirth?_

"That's right." A voice, familiar, comes from behind me. I turn abruptly but see nothing.

Scanning the area, there's nothing, so I slowly look back to the obelisk only to find a great shadow looming overhead.

"Rebirth." The voice says again, this time from above. So I look.

A great dragon sits above me, her magnificent wings unfurled and in her talons she clutched the obelisk as if she would fall at any second. The stone groaned beneath her weight, yet did not even look like it was going to budge. The beasts' great tail swayed precariously back and forth behind her, the spiked tip flicking in tune with a weak breeze. I only see her underbelly from this spot, and it is laden with a grand menagerie of gemstones that clung to her flesh. Her scales were just as horrible, from what I could see beyond the wicked black talons, violet in colour with an iridescent shimmer with each movement of muscle.

She is not just any kind of dragon. No, this is a high dragon. I've heard many stories of these beasts, and I suppose it really is that only in my dreams would I ever meet one such beast. The dragon angles her head towards me, and now I see her face. A terrifying maw, piercing golden eyes, and a crown of four horns decorated her proud head.

I dropped to my knees and stared up into her eyes. Swallowed, and finally seemed to be able to breathe. Ragged.

 _Maker, what have I gotten myself into this time?_ I opened my mouth to speak, but the dragon held up a talon, silencing me instantly.

Slowly, the dragon slips from the stone and stands over me, a grin upon her wicked maw.

I know this creature. I know her, she's—

"Flemeth." Says she.

"Flemeth." I repeat.

"I see you've found yourself in quite a bit of trouble, young man." Trouble? What does she mean? "And now you have found me again, and in such a short amount of time as well." Flemeth pulls me to my feet and shifts suddenly, her body goes alight and shrinks down to that of a humans form.

Before me, she stood as the old woman of the Wilds. Her hands are warm against mine and she held my hands tight. Her eyes held pity, and her expression radiated sadness. "It is such a shame you had to meet me in such a way."

"In what way?" I snapped, eyes firm to hers. "What the hell are you talking about? Where the hell am I?"

Her hand graced my jaw and I was filled with memories, and a vision of—

 _Denerim. The city wrought with chaos and, in the middle of the road, is a body._

"That's fucking impossible. You're-You're lying! Wh-where the hell am I!? Where the hell is this!?"

"You are in limbo, child. The crossroads to the other side."

"No, no that's impossible, I-I can't be—"

I recall the moment, slowly, as I struggle to call it forth. The vision rose before me; Brennan and I locked together, his gun pressed firm to my head. I see the magic flow through me towards my palms with my desperate command to kill him. He pulls the trigger—and my hand dropped to the ground, my body still, and the last traces of magic evaporated.

I dropped to my knees, eyes wide with disbelief, my body racked with violent tremors. Flemeth sighs impatiently.

Her arms slowly wrap around me and I leaned into her embrace, my head rested on her shoulder with violent tremors still coursing through my body.

"In light of your death, I have a proposition for you." Flemeth pulled back lifted me to my feet. "You have a mission to complete, yes? Return my amulet to Marethari of Clan Sabrae? Do this, and I will have more information for you once that rite is completed."

I gawk at her in confusion. _How the hell am I supposed to do this if I'm actually dead!?_

"Ah, of course," she purrs, "In exchange for your life being returned to you, you will fulfill my will, as my Champion." Her fingers touched upon the necklace on my neck and my eyes grow wide.

"I accept." I say without hesitance.

"Do you not wish to hear the terms?" Flemeth asks.

"I… Yes." I've gone into too many traps without knowing what I must do.

"You will have power beyond what you can imagine, young man," Flemeth circles me. "and upon your body I will bestow my brand. I know of your masters' own upon your wrists, and unfortunately I am not at liberty to remove them—for this, I truly apologize. You will need to find someone else to remove them for you."

"Is your brand like the Vallaslin? The Blood Writing?" I tilt my head and catch her smirking at me.

"Would you rather have something obvious upon your brow that marks you even more as a target? Or would you rather it be nothing more than a subtle marking upon—" she grabs my arm and twists it then pulled back my sleeve. The Halla tattoo I have—she smiles down at it.

"This has more meaning than just what your master has told you. And upon its brow, I shall bestow my brand, and the rest—"

"Will become runes that can amplify power and intelligence." I finish.

"Quite a smart man, it's such a shame you were under the influence of falsehoods." Her fingers trail through my hair, down the side of my head, and she held my jaw; I close my eyes in waiting. "Hurtled into the chaos you fight… and the world will shake before you… For we stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment…and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly." She kisses my forehead once again, and the waves of magic course through my veins, and I felt her mark press to my brow, and then trail off as I close my eyes.

"Thank you." I say softly, "my Lady."

Opening my eyes, she is gone. The beat of draconic wings fades off in the distance, and I am left alone. For a moment, I wonder what exactly she was talking about—

A vision flashed before my eyes:

A great city at the edge of the Waking Sea, plagued by chaos in the underbelly and up above, and yet it was all in one piece. Magnificent lights coloured the sky and buildings and it all seemed to be at peace—

The sounds came to me; cars honking, people walking and talking, the roar of a train in a subsystem…

The echo of a blaring horn startles me out of my dreams. My head bowed against my chest, and strain upon my arms, a weak groan slipped through dry lips and I blink open my eyes and squint into the darkness before me. The stale scent of water and mold hits me and I choke on the air. I'm barely standing, but my body feels like I've been hit by a semi-truck. I realize that it isn't my own limbs that are keeping me up as the sound of metal chains echoes throughout the room.

I look up.

My hands are bound together with metal cuffs attached to a metal grate overhead by iron chains. Droplets of water slide down my arms from the chain links. Blue light filters down from wherever it's coming from. I shake my head and squint. I can see, but all I can see is what the light allows me; an empty room with puddles of water and patches of moss that branch out over the concrete floor. The chains clink once again as I shift onto my feet.

Had these things not been holding me I probably would have fallen flat on my face as my own strength failed me so instead I swing forward and to the side before I decide that my wrists are still necessary. Pulling myself to my feet once again, I found that not only had my wrists been bound, but my ankles had been chained to the ground as well. Most likely to prevent me from lashing out.

The soft light below me told of one of my worst nightmares; a glyph of repression. A huge one, and no doubt from the tremor in my muscles that this thing has been sapping every ounce of magic from my body whenever I could recover mana.

As if I could do that now—Someone doesn't want me to get out this time and they're trying really hard to make this uncomfortable as the Void.

 _But where am I?_

There's a subway nearby, I can hear the hollowed subsystem resonating with the rumble of wheels and the sound of the horn, and I feel the rumbles of the great machine as it screams by. It feels close, almost too close. From the sounds of it… I'm still in Denerim.

This is not good.

Warmth trickles between my eyes and down the bridge of my nose, and the similar sensation trails down my sides and my chest.

 _I'm bleeding._

Normally, I wouldn't be so anxious about my own blood; I've been stabbed many times before, but—

Wait a fucking second…

I was _dead._

A breath of relief fled my lips as I remembered Flemeth—so she really did come through for me…

 _I'm alive._

I take a moment to collect myself then glance about the room and a small sliver of light catches my eye.

There's a door a couple of feet away from me, and from what I could see, it was one sided. Only one way in, and no way out. It's heavily reinforced with a ward carved into it to prevent magical entities from getting in or out without proper dismissal. Similar glyphs decorate around the larger one at my feet, and I felt the pull of magic draining attacking my mind.

I don't resist. I cannot resist.

None of my things are with me. I'm unarmed, in torn and bloodied clothing, and missing a good portion of my gear altogether. No doubt taken from my body when it was recovered—but that brings another question; why did they take my body? I know that they have some people who dispose of corpses in _Occasu_ s, but they've never let one stay whole for too long. Why would they just take my body and leave me chained up like a—

Each bitter breath makes me feel like I'm going to faint, and sounds from the other side of the door definitely told me where I was

This is the Compound.

 _Maker these binds are tight…_

Every time I moved, the metal chafed against my wrists and the glyph at my feet would crackle with magical energy. The blue sparks of light were the only means of catching quick glances about the room; barren, for the most part, with moss and lichen growing on the blackened cobble walls.

From the faint sliver of light from beneath the door, I could only guess, if memory serves me right, that I'm six floors down. I've wandered the halls on numerous occasions when I found myself feeling a little on edge and was allowed to pick a victim at will. I practically knew it by the aura alone—so forgotten and broken, those hearts plagued with knowing that they'll—that they'll be forgotten and left to rot or taken to the Coliseum. The sixth floor was always my prime hunting ground.

This place… This is where the deadly enemies of _Ocassus_ are sent to die.

Normally it'd feel like home but now… Now I can feel the weight of sorrow press upon my own heart and every shattered breath I take feels like I'm inhaling daggers of ice. The pain sends my vision fuzzy, and I sway precariously on my feet, and staggering about within the limited range I have—blue light shines below.

Agony races from the soles of my feet straight up to my head—and I scream.

The corridors next to mine suddenly break into noise, and its inhabitants screaming out for mercy—for death—for—for—

Footsteps from behind the metal door, and laughter. Echoing with the faint haunting tone of someone familiar. The footfalls halt before my cell as another cry of agony rips from my throat until I'm hoarse—and the deep gasps of breath seemed to bring out some kind of laughter from the other side.

My head slumped, chin to my chest, chest slowly rising and falling, arms aching from supporting my weight for so long. I sway gently and kept my eyes shut. If I were to be left here, then I—I submit.

Metal scrapes along the stone ground, footfalls enter the room, and metal scrapes once more, then slams shut.

 _Someone is in the room._

"Well, well, what have we here?"

Slowly, I raise my head—

 _Danarius._

He stands with authority, dressed in his finest robes with a wine glass gently clutched between his fingers. He swirls his drink playfully as he starts towards me. His lips curled into a smile and the light in his eyes… weren't there.

"You're alive." His voice a wicked purr, he stops just before me and gently tilts my head up towards his.

"Dan!" I breathed with a smile. Somehow I couldn't have been happier to see him.

His fingers trail down my throat and stop just against the side—and then I felt it—

The chill of his magic seeping through my skin—towards my mind. Lights flashed behind my gaze and I stared up at him dumbly.

 _Denerim—fading—the festival a joyful evening. Who were these people? That elf? That… that… red head… kinda cute…gone…_

"Why am I here? I was supposed to be with you for this meeting." I said softly as he removed his hand. "Together, remember?"

My heart races and terror takes over— _why am I here? I'm in prison? Why am I in prison!?_

"It pains me to see you like this, pet." His hand rests over his heart, and my own sinks. "I understand that you're confused, and I understand that you might be scared."

 _I don't understand. What's going on!?_

"I would tell you why you're here—but I will not." His smile becomes wicked, and suddenly the world shatters before me—Dan wasn't the man I thought he was.

I struggle against my binds as tears streak down my cheeks. Gritting my teeth as Danarius paced around me, uttering vile phrases in Tevene, all of which make me cringe in the worst possible way.

With each word he speaks, my heart sinks lower, and a sickening feeling rises in my stomach—and my smile fades. Is he angry with me?

Once again he approaches, and I see nothing but hatred and disgust in his eyes. His hands on my sides—tendrils of electricity course through my body and I rear back and let out a shrill scream.

His laughter fills the room.

Then all falls silent.

Iron fills my mouth, and as he turns my head back to meet, I spit right in his face. The magister recoiled, and the sharp sting of the back of his hand greets me. My attention is glued to the wall, I won't look at him. I won't—

"Look at me." He hisses.

I don't move.

"I said _Look at me._ " His nails dig into my skin and he forces me to face him. Wiping the blood from his face, he sneers. A jolt of electric energy through my body rendered me numb—and all I saw was him.

"Have you forgotten who I am, my pet? Have you forgotten what I have done for you? It was _I_ that saved you from that cage eleven years ago and now you _must. Obey. Me._ " His voice that of a soft croon; his fingers gentle against my jaw, the touch so light and feathered. I look into his eyes, and my breath fails. The weight of what I had done slowly sets in, and I feel my heart break.

 _Dan…_

My eyelids heavy and shallow breaths made their way free, this familiar sensation in my chest… It aches.

"Was it so hard to look at me, _maleficus?_ "

Breathing fails as he circles behind me, chest to my back, his lips against my ear. A violent shudder raced down my spine and tenses upon my skin. Slowly his lips graze my jaw and I sucked in a breath.

"Answer me, pet, was it that difficult?" His grip tightens.

 _Fuck._

I finally swallowed away the lump in my throat, and as he returns before me, I cannot drop my gaze.

"N-no…"

"No, what?"

"No, _Dominus,_ it was not difficult to look at you."

He looks at me expectantly, his eyes checking over my blood-covered body. I force myself to take in another breath.

"Forgive me for my insolence, _dominus._ It was uncouth of me to do such a thing."

 _I shouldn't have done that. I've made him angry. Please don't be upset with me._

His fingers are only a half inch from my face but I can feel the prickles of magic bouncing from his skin to mine. My body instinctively curls back and my head tucks against my chest. He picks my head up again, and he does it. He kisses me. His lips are dry and cracked and I can taste those expensive wines on them… I involuntarily shudder beneath his touch as cold fingers trail down my bare sides. His other hand returns to my face and knits through my beard, his thumb running across my lip. I try to pull away but he pulls my body against his.

I groan and suck in another breath of air, only to have it stolen by his lips again, his tongue pressed to mine. _Aggregio pavali_. I recognize that flavor. It tastes like honey—

"Does it not please you, knowing that your master loves you so, pet?" Danarius' fingers feel like ice as he caresses my jaw, a loving smile on his wicked mouth. I raised my head, exposing my throat to him, to his teeth.

"Y-yes."

"Yes, _what_?" The sensation of his teeth is unreal, and desirable, but not in that moment. I want him to stop. I want him to get me out of here and take me back to Tevinter with him. I shudder as each scar on my body is grazed over by his nails. His hand follows the long scar from my left pectoral all the way down beneath the hem of my jeans. I made the attempt to pull away from his touch, but his chilled hands hand already slipped below.

"Yes, _what_ , my pet?" I had almost forgotten to answer him. He jammed his thumb into my hip and I let out a squeak.

"Y-yes, _dominus_ , it's good to know that you still love me." The word is like acid on my tongue. I love him. But the word is foreign, now, and it's so wrong that a simple word that I had spoken to him, a word that I held so dear, now meant nothing to me.

"And?"

"And I love you, Danarius. Maker, I love you so much…"

My heart doesn't race, and my eyes do not light as I tell him. This word means nothing to me.

My master smirks, looks up, and whistles towards the grate. A mechanical whirr sounds, and I'm slowly lowered to my knees. My hands fall behind me and, with a groan; I lean forward and rest my head against the cold and forgiving stonework.

Footfalls around me finally stop once again, and my head is lifted with the toe of a boot. Slowly I look up to my master and regret fills my heart.

"Bare your arms to me." Dan says. I relent and roll my shoulders, wincing at the sting of each popping joint as I pull my arms forward and hold them up to him. Wetness streaks down my cheeks as he retrieves a key from his sleeve, kneels, and unlocks the shackles. They drop to the ground with a heavy metallic clang and, for a moment, I believed him to be setting me free.

I should have known better. Not even seconds later did he pull out a small stone, rounded at the top and flat and ridged on bottom. A runestone, an applicator, no doubt. He shows the symbol to me, and I recognize it immediately to be the same one on either of my wrists.

So I turn my wrists to him, as is protocol.

My original brands have faded beyond belief, but they were still powerful. I don't remember how long I've had these embedded into my flesh, but I _do_ know that they're meant to suppress power.

 _Magical_ power.

His fingers trail along the multitude of scars on the underside of my arms and wrists, and his grey eyes fall shut, and the runestone glows with a ghostly blue light.

"Cry out, and I will beat you."

Swallowing, I only bow my head in acceptance.

 _If I had just done the job properly, I'd be at his side in Tevinter, not here. Maybe I should have come back to him when the brands started to fade. I should have told him sooner._

My heart pounds in my ears and I hear him speaking an older dialect that I can't quite make out. But I don't think I want to understand what he's saying. Icey fingers wrap around the first wrist, and the vice-like grip remains as the rune is pressed into my skin.

Searing pain races through my arm—and I grit my teeth hard, not wanting to make a single sound knowing full well that this is more 'gentle' than the punishments he'd give. I buried my head into my arm and watch as tears drop to the ground.

A soft hum and the release told me he was done—with that one.

I don't even look as he does the other one. I deserved this. I know I did.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

Once the pain had faded, I look up at him, staring at him. He scowls and reaches over—picking up his glass of wine between his fingers, then holds it out to me.

"Drink." He presses the rim against my lips and tilts it forward.

The liqueur is stong, but sweet, and goes down rather smoothly even though the burn of alcohol does nothing for a dry throat. Danarius settled the glass down as I swallowed and eye the remainder in his glass. I want more. I look up at him, mentally begging him for another taste.

The only taste he gives me is another kiss.

"What do you say, pet?" He speaks against my lips and my shackles are returned. The creaking of metal allowed me that moment to pull away from him just as I was hoisted back into a very awkward and uncomfortable kneeling position. Danarius vanishes from my vision for a moment, then his hands return to my body and his thigh slides between my legs.

"Thank you for your kindness, _Dominus_." I speak without hesitation through a moan as his mouth tucks over the side of my neck. Again my body tries to curl up, or at least tries to jump away from his touch. I'm held here fast with an ever racing heartbeat and hitching breaths for every sensation he brings. Maker, there's a knot in my stomach that's going tighter and tighter with every passing second.

My masters' knee presses firmly between my legs and I let out a shrill gasp, his rough fingers snaking their way across my skin down towards my waist, thumbs tucked into my jeans and inched the fabric down little by little.

I refused to look at him, or even move _. I won't. I won't._

 _I will not look at him._

Eyes squeezed shut tight. He does it again, and again. Weak grunts from behind me, and from myself.

Violated. Teased. Molested.

Taken over the edge and left hanging there as he laughs.

I open my eyes.

"I have a proposition for you, pet." Dan says, running a cloth over his hand and side-stepping in front of me.

Silence.

I'm yanked back to my feet and make a pitiful squeak of pain. His thumb pressed to my lips and a sneer on his smug face, Dan holds me there, eye to eye.

"I never thought someone like you could have the power you have now. To think you were just some poor urchin boy to be sold to the highest bidder. Yet you surprise me again and again." For a moment I thought this was a bit of praise—

"You know how I hate being surprised by my property."

His… property…

Claws in my hair, yanking my head back. Another weak cry of pain came free.

"However, in light of your recent… failure."

Failure of dying, it seems.

"I've come to the decision to give you another chance, or rather, a choice."

"I've a choice, is it? What a gift you've given me."

I deserved the back hand. I really did.

"Two choices." Says he. "You become my champion and fight in the arena like the good little soldier you are, or—" the pause scares me, his eyes light with a sickening glow, the flash of cold metal caught my eye, and something is plunged into an open wound.

Panic ran throughout my body, and I instinctively twisted away from the dagger in hand, only to bury it further into my side.

Agony. Tears. Muffled screams.

"I let them do what they want to you. The people you've hurt. You know they're all wanting to take your place in rank—oh, right, the rank that I'd given you—"

"W-what?"

"What is your answer?"

The dagger pulled free and held to my throat, I see him tilt his head and sneer.

"Do I have time to decide?" I swallowed.

"No."

The blade cuts into my skin, and I take a shaken breath.

He circles me, the blade following him.

It hurts.

 _Maker, it hurts._

"In the arena?" I questioned, which thankfully made him stop.

Warmth trails down my neck as I thought.

To fight in the arena in my state—it'd take me months to recover enough to even be physically able to hold my own. He's had me in the arena on numerous occasions, but never as weak as I was then. I've fought. I've killed many an opponent and have remained 'champion' for years… but now he means to send me to a second death.

I hesitated too long, and my head is yanked towards his again.

"NOW, SLAVE!"

"Y-yes!" I squeaked.

"Yes, _WHAT?_ " His breath a sharp exhale, the rage in his aura now prevalent and potent. Suffocating.

"Y-yes, dominus, I will fight for you."

If I am to die fighting, then I will die for him. Danarius is my master, and therefore I must obey him. He… owns my life.

He _is_ my life. My world…

A rough kiss followed the twisted grin that crossed his lips, and he looks me over once more.

"You've been such a terrible little slave. So disobedient." His attitude had changed—what was he-?

"Consorting with the contacts," he tuts. "I've told you not to fuck them, haven't I? But you can't resist a pretty little Irish ass can you?"

 _Oh, Maker, no, Calem!_

"Consider yourself lucky that that bastard is as slippery as they come."

 _Calem… got away? Thank the Maker._

His thumb trailed along the scar on the bridge of my nose and my body goes rigid, then numb in several places.

"Please. Let me go. Let me recover so I can properly give you a show." After him, I must follow him.

Danarius turns to leave. Not a word spoken.

"Please. Let me heal up." Desperation hangs in my voice, and my eyes go wide.

"Please, Master, I beg of you, don't leave me here like this!" He's at the door, knocking twice. I pull at my binds, repeating myself, louder and louder.

"Let me be by your side, please! I want to be with you again! PLEASE!"

The door opens, and he looks over his shoulder at me—no longer with a look that I've longed for—but with absolute disgust and absolutely no such gentle as he had…

"DANARIUS!"

He snapped his fingers, and the floor below me lit up, and as the door slams shut, a torrent of lightning rakes through my body—and everything goes dark.

For hours I slip in and out of consciousness; when I'd wake, the glyph at my feet would drain me of all restored mana, then rend me out cold again. Only once had I managed to stay conscious through a jolt of electricity, wondering how exactly I was still alive throughout the whole thing. Squinting into the darkness, there's no longer any light from the door, and it's uncomfortably silent. The blue hue above me has gone out as well. I'm in total darkness.

My body twitched involuntarily and I whined in protest against it. Each ragged breath I took hurt my lungs. And each time I heard a noise—my master would have returned.

Ravishing came between us multiple times; on my knees to satisfy him. And I would do so without question. He'd have me pinned to the ground and would sate himself that way, but I was not allowed to make a sound.

Once he had pulled my shirt over my shoulders with my back exposed to him—and that was when I'd feel the sting of a whip against my bare skin.

"First you disobey direct orders." said he, striking once more, "Then you soil your disgusting little figure with more tattoos without my permission. You seem to have forgotten that I own you. That your body is _my_ property to do with as I wish."

 _His property._

"You are nothing more than a slave, and a pawn of higher power. Do you understand me?"

 _I'm a slave._

"I… yes… Dominus."

 _Bought and paid for._

I've tried so hard to pretend that my life was my own; I've known for eleven long years that I was never a free man. I've lied to myself constantly into believing I was able to be normal.

 _I'm worthless. Yet he trained me to be strong—to be powerful like him! My life, this way I've been living, it had only been a farce for my obedience…_

And he had my utmost loyalty. I stared with longing, our eyes locked. Tears streaming down my cheeks.

"I love you." My voice cracked, and slowly my head slumped forward, chin to my chest.

"I think you'll be a wonderful little toy for our future champion." Two more times, the whip cracked against my body, and two more times did I let out the pitiful cries of mercy.

He departs quickly, leaving me there alone in the dark once more.

Crying was difficult. To hold it back and ignore the bubbling emotions was easy, I've trained myself to do so, but as soon as that dam breaks and everything comes flooding through.

 _Dan is just kidding—he loves me—that's the only truth of it. He's just—he's only teasing and he'll be back for me. Everything will be fine. Everything will be—everything—_

My own voice captured itself in my throat—a cage locked to the brim with—

The revelation that I've denied for too long slamming into me like a freight train.

An abhorrent scream loosed from my strained throat, and echoed around me. My tears fell freely, unhindered despite attempts to quell the flow.

I cried until my chest hurt.

I cried until I felt I would suffocate on my own breath.

I cried until exhaustion took me out.


	4. The Prison

Silence hung in the air, and with silence came an unimaginable discomfort. Blinking once, twice, slowly shaking my head with one eye barely open and a pain in my neck, I had expected to be woken by my masters' ever vigilant hands prodding at my body, or perhaps one of the other slaves come to keep me just barely alive. What I had expected to happen to my unconscious form had never gained corporeal form, though I… didn't know exactly _what_ I was expecting, but surely _something_.

For an unending period, Dan came back and left me, again and again. I don't know how long it had been, and I didn't know why I was being whipped. _Why was he violating me? Why he had scored my flesh with blades?_

I didn't know. I didn't know…

I deserved it all.

Pain lingered in my lower half, and a whole slew of new scars crossed my back. The shirt clung to my skin with fresh and dried blood. At this point, Danarius had left me with even less dignity than when I woke up here.

Quite literally he's left me in the dark, and no longer does the light come from under the door. It has to be late. I know not even how I still stand. My legs quake beneath me and threaten to give out, my knees have already knocked together and my ankles scream for relief. The chains creak in protest of my weight on them—and it' then that I realized…

Someone is in the room with me.

I can sense their presence. A single entity? Two? Maybe more. It's powerful. But it is not my master. My heart sinks low into my belly and I let out a sigh, my chin rested on my chest once more. He would have done something by now; kissed me, touched me, or just made a sound. This person isn't doing anything. Growing worry thuds against my chest, and the scuffle of boots sets me on guard. I look up, swallow away at a lump in my throat and quickly look around.

I start to struggle. I can't let anyone take me away now!

Someone's weight is on me from behind. I panic and let out a cry. A hand comes over my mouth and I go silent. Ragged breaths follow the white light of agony as more weight is suddenly forced on my shoulders.

Gaze downcast, I see the boots in the dim light of the glyph, and as I look back up, I'm met by a pair of soft blue eyes. I quickly jerk my head back from their hand and headbutt whoever was behind me.

They fall back onto the floor with their own quiet string of curses.

It wasn't me that snickered, but the figure in front of me.

From the sounds of their voices, they're both male. Again the weight is on my back, but something forces me to stand still.

I didn't know what they were doing until the first man's hands pressed on my chest, and jingling of metal from above alerted me to their doing.

They're both ignoring me, only conversing between one another. I growled in response to the two, but fell silent as a new smell came to me.

He smelled like the forest, so natural and oaken.

"W-who?"

"We're going to get you out of here, Lethallin, just be quiet." A whisper in my ear as the one on my back hops off.

"Whoever set these locks up knows what they're doing. Give me on of your picks." There is a quiet exchange, and an Antivan accent from the one behind me.

"Theron." I say softly, though it came out more as a croak as my tongue feels more like it's made of cotton.

A hum in response verified my ease.

The lost Grey Warden, Theron Mahariel.

"I will say that whoever decided to ravish this poor man did a piss-poor job cleaning him up." A grunt of disgust came from behind once again, so that must be Zevran.

Zevran climbs onto my back once more, and this time I try to stand tall. Theron holds me up as best he could.

Minutes of jingling, then finally "ah-ha!"

And I drop like a fucking rock.

I'm at least relieved that Theron cushions the fall, but not so much because he is as bony as a fish skeleton. Not much safety in that. The other man pulls me onto my knees and turns my head side to side. I'm met by a copper stare. The same kind you get from cats in the dark. It's jarring, but I'm at ease.

Theron is good company, he's someone I can call "friend" and he wouldn't have brought someone who intends harm—at least I hope not. I hear jingling again and my ankles are free. The glyph below does not activate, and instead fizzles out into silence.

Praise Andraste for that.

"Zev, let's get him out of here before the old coot comes back."

I swallowed dryly as they hoist me to my feet.

A string of light arcs up my arms to my eyes, and for a moment, I stand there like a statue. Frozen as visions race through my mind.

Flemeth stands there, and she smiles.

 _I will see you soon, child._

A cry, and I keel backwards, only saved by Zevran diving to catch me from cracking my head on the floor.

"Lethallin, try to stay calm, if you go, we can't drag you out."

"You didn't bring anyone else with you?" I managed to say.

"No. There's no time to explain, come on."

As I knelt down to gather myself, another vision crossed my eyes.

 _Locked up, tethered to a pole and looking as dignified as an ass on its last leg. A firing squad lined up, all aimed for me. Ready… Aim… FIRE._

A violent shudder forces its way through my body when the visions fade away and my eyes resume their normal dark color. I find myself looking into Theron's eyes.

He's still silent as he always has been, but his gaze holds a worry that I've never seen in him before. He motions to Zevran and they struggle to pull me to my feet. I'm going to pass out at any second and feel myself get dizzy with every passing minute. The subway screams near us, the train rattles the compound walls again. We're very close to it.

I'm ten seconds from fainting again when Theron lurches forward, shushing us both.

Silence.

Great, that's all I need is more silence.

The other elf is putting too much pressure on my wound and it hurts like the Void. I'm screaming at him internally, and bite my lip to keep it locked in.

Theron's grip slackened and vanished as turned towards the door. It's opened just a crack. But open enough that he pries it open with ease and swipes his gaze down the hall, leaving me to burden Zevran with my weight even further and I can almost hear the elf's joints creak beneath me.

"You could use to lose a few pounds there, my friend." Zevran grunts.

"Shut it."

The entire hallway is dimly lit and there are no guards. Anywhere. So far my head has wrapped around the fact that we're now barely out of my cell and I don't even know what time it is, let alone what month it is.

I turn to speak, but only a hoarse squeak comes out. I shut my mouth just as quickly and Theron mumbles under his breath.

"We've been looking for you for months now. We'd thought they'd just dumped your body into the river." Months? That's… much longer than I'd thought.

You tend to lose track of time when you're being held against your will.

"When is it?"

"No time, we have to go before they sound the alarm."

They shepherd me forward through the door and quickly down the hall. Shouts and roars of hatred and anger ring out from any other prisoners that were still up. Threats upon threats for my life (and my ass) echoed on, but were ignored.

Finally we made way into the light of the next hall, and Theron immediately looked me over.

"You look like shit." He sneered.

"I feel like I've been kicked by a dragon."

"You _look_ like you've been _mauled_ by one."

"Oh, shut up."

It seemed like an eternity as we wandered through corridor after corridor, and with each door locked and a deadly sensation bubbling in my chest, there was no doubt in my mind that; not only were we lost, but we were probably going to die.

A body lay against the wall off to the side, and it caught my eye too easily.

"We had to kill a few men before we found your cell, friend." Zevran readjusted me against his shoulder and we continue on our trek through the silent halls, minutes passed in awkward silence and our trio being the only sounds for a good distance until a dull roar echoed from the off distance.

I froze in place. Those sounds were the last kind I want to hear. I recognize it all too well for the years I've spent here; crowds roaring and cheering in either protest or delight.

We're close to the arena.

My breath hitched my entire form locked up

"Garrett?" Zevran's voice—

I start twisting against Zevran's arm, forcing myself backwards despite his curses.

 _They're taking me to the arena! They're going to kill me!_ No! I won't let them-!

Zevran yelped as I reeled back and stepped on his foot, then I quickly turned and shoved him off of me. I couldn't keep my balance and toppled over right on top of the smaller elf. Everything went gray and my body stopped responding to panic—It shouldn't have—and believe me, this should not have happened.

Theron turned on his heel and grabs my arms, yanking me back to my feet and as soon as I was on my feet I swung at him—My body is set to fight for my life if I have to—and currently I believed that I had to.

"No! Let me go! You're just a liar!" Eyes wide, heart racing, vision grey.

My master is near.

Eyes now shut, and darkness surrounding me— _just breathe, Garrett, just breathe_ —and soon I felt hands on either side of my face, and I open my eyes.

Theron's gaze is locked with mine, and his voice is calm.

"Breathe. With me. You're safe with us. Breathe with me."

He's breathing steady, and slowly mine equals his. A hand rested over my heart, Theron kept me there until I was steady on my own.

I see him, and he sees me. We're both on our knees and neither of us break eye contact. I hear someone shuffle behind us.

It's only Zevran, muttering to himself while massaging his foot.

"Are you alright enough to keep moving?"

I swallow and nod, the burst of adrenaline had drained me enough to be too tired to panic any further.

He stands up, and I follow him.

I don't deserve his help, I don't—I see my arms still glowing. Danarius is still nearby, but I'm assuming it's because he's a spectator at the arena. I almost wish I could be there with him at his side—

 _No, Garrett, bad thoughts. Bad thoughts are not allowed._ I winced at my thoughts.

Fingers through my hair again and a tired exhale, now we really need to get moving before this brand saps away whatever strength I have left.

The further we went, the heavier my limbs became, and the more I had to use my friends as crutches. The sounds of gunfire, cheering, and shouting had been passed by and they all but dragged my sorry ass past it.

Every time I recoiled in fear, Zevran had to shove me forward, and Theron had to keep a vice-grip on my wrists.

I've been reduced to a pathetic, somehow coherent, sack of potatoes.

It's embarrassing.

I hear Theron chuckle to himself as my legs finally allowed movement once again.

Down the labyrinth we went, and the longer we wandered through the dark, the more paranoid I became.

Finally, our small party came to a halt in a small alcove. I dropped to the floor against the wall and ran my hands over my face.

"Sorry for giving you the runaround back in Denerim." Theron said, settling next to me. "I just had to be sure that it was actually you that they set the trap for."

"So you knew about this and you didn't even find it necessary to _tell_ me?" I glared pointedly at him. "Some friend you are."

"Yes, I knew about the ambush, no, I didn't think that it was actually intended to kill you."

"That's a fucking lie and you know it, Theron!" My voice carried—backing up the pent up anger that I've still got locked up in me. "I fucking _died_ in Denerim, somehow I'm alive again, and all of this bullshit could have been avoided if you had just TOLD me!" I turned onto my knees and pinned him by his throat.

"If I had told you," Theron replied calmly. "would you have even listened to me? Would you, so blind with this 'love' for a man who has abused you and tortured you for eleven years of your fucking life." His fingers dug into my wrist and he glared back up at me. "You mean to tell me that Garrett Hawke, the 'top assassin' of the Dawn would have listened to a nobody elven rogue when he was told that his boss was a piece of shit that had no intentions of actually letting him get any higher than he already was? Dan _used_ you, Garrett, and I know you knew this. But you are so far in denial that you couldn't even see it."

"And how would you know what lo—" The pained look in his eyes shut me up so quickly, and I immediately regretted even wanting to say it.

"She left me through the Eluvian with our child." I pulled back, letting him go. The elf massaged his throat and looked pointedly to Zevran.

"I thought ours was real too, and I still love her even though she's not around anymore. But she never abused me, she never lied to me—"

"Yes she did." Zevran chimed, before quietly slipping ahead of us.

"Alright, she did lie to me, but she had her own legitimate reason for it. What I'm saying—Garrett you _knew_ Dan was a horrible man. You remember what he did to you when you were just a kid."

I opened my mouth to speak, and quickly looked to the ground, biting my lip and shaking my head.

"Yes… Yes I remember what he did to me. What he'd always done to me whenever he felt like it."

"He did it to you before we came for you, didn't he?" Theron's arms around my neck, mine around his middle. I grunted in response and shuddered. We shouldn't be talking about this here—but holy hell do I feel a little better now…

When I was able to stand again, I looked down at him.

"But why would you go through all this trouble just for me? I've done nothing of worth to have the attention of a Grey Warden or a Crow." My chest aches with each breath, but I'm able to hold on.

"I'll tell you once we get out of here, I think our little talk has taken enough time." Theron adjusts his weapon and jerks his head for me to follow him.

"For now, we need you alive."

"S-so…" Wait, what did he mean 'for now'?

"How did you find me?"

Theron kept moving forward and I followed obediently.

"Zevran kept an eye on the truck that they threw your corpse in. We followed it out here. I still don't know why they didn't just burn your corpse like they do with all the others, that's why we followed. Otherwise we wouldn't have bothered."

Indeed, it still was pretty suspicious why my body wasn't just dumped or burned.

"So many people died back in the Alienage." Theron's shoulders fell a little, and I could hear the pain in his voice. "I never cared for the flat-ears but they never deserved such an end. That poor woman and her fiancé…" He sighed and pushed through another crack in the wall.

"I couldn't have stopped this even if I was able to." I said, looking ahead of us. "I must admit that I thought I'd have been burned to death beforehand. But being fire resistant kind of helps." I cracked my knuckles and leaned against the wall once we stopped.

"Can you please tell me what month it is?"

Zevran rejoined us and whispered something to Theron, then quickly took up position under my arm once again.

"It's the middle of November, winter is coming."

Theron cleared his throat again and smirked. "Happy birthday, by the way."

"Fuck you."

Maker, when did breathing become so difficult? My vision has all but gone grey and I'm damn near blind by the time we stop again. They let me settle once again to recuperate and catch my breath.

Fuckin' hell I hate this. _Heartless. Emotionless killer. Gods, I'm supposed to be some kind of heartless serial killer, but all I am is a mess._

I laughed to myself and held my ribs. It all hurts. Everything hurts.

My stomach protested the lack of nourishment. It's been… how long since I was given a proper meal? I'd kill for a sandwich right now.

I've been reduced to a worthless sack of bloody potatoes, and I grow ever more fond of mortality.

I really wish I had my staff, at least then I'd be able to defend myself proper.

The beautiful blond elf knelt at my side and put pressure onto one of the larger, bleeding, wounds. A string of a hiss, and a hand on his, I kept my attention to the ground, just wishing the pain would subside.

"You need serious medical attention."

"Thank you, captain obvious, would you like a medal for your observation?"

Zevran went silent but remained where he was. I wished that I had been a healer instead of a killer, maybe then I wouldn't have been so useless.

I opened my mouth again to shout, but a vial was forced in, and pungent red liquid slid down my throat. I gagged immediately and smacked away the hand that held it.

"Are you trying to fucking _kill_ me!?"

"It was only a potion, now shut up you big baby and let's get moving." Theron's patience is thinning, but it was deserved. My strength started to return, so I stood again and pushed past them.

Our escape hasn't gone unnoticed—that was to be expected—and an alarm sounds off elsewhere. My heart races each time Theron pulls me out of the hallway against one of the alcoves. Guards race past us with guns at the ready. Calling out that I'm to be killed on sight. They're not even planning on letting me live long enough for the arena.

 _Cute…_ The sad smile, and now a look in Zevran's eyes…

We'll be lucky if we survive this.

Once the coast had cleared, Zevran hurried ahead of us. He returned a solid ten minutes later, visibly shaken and nervous.

This doesn't bode well for us at all. Zevran panted and quickly turned his attention to me.

"They've got men at every turn. Garrett what did you _do_ to earn such a—"

"I was the master's pet." I snapped. "I was the one that ever so foolishly believed that I would become a magister under his tutelage; I was the one that he had trained with dangerous magic in hopes that I may have a better understanding of this. I am the one that knows more about the Dawn than most others do. I'm a threat to this guild and they damn well know it."

I breathed slowly and wrung my hands. "I am many things to this guild. I was the child that he bought, I was the one he molested and brainwashed. I was the one that had willingly become his experiment for lyrium infusion." I showed them my arm, my wrists, and the markings on my throat. "He succeeded, and now he wants this monster that he has created to be eliminated."

Realization is like a bitter pill that sticks to your throat, no matter how many times you drink. Memories of my past weigh heavily upon me. I scrubbed at my face and growled.

"He branded you."

"He branded me as his property, and he suppressed my magic with these runes. Every time I do something without his permission, they shock me."

"Then why hasn't it—" Zevran went silent as if like clockwork, the runes lit my veins and an arc of electricity raced up my arms. I bit my lip to keep silent.

Gods does it hurt. I want it to stop. I need it to—

The magic faded, and I let out that held breath.

"If I didn't have these, I'd be able to cast magic at will, and I would have escaped well on my own."

"What _can_ you do, then?"

"At this point, I don't fear my death, I will cast whatever I am able to when needed. However my mana pool is all but drained, potentially damaged because of the glyph he had placed under me while I was imprisoned. Mental spells would cause the brands to go off. However," We continued on, stopping at the corner as Theron peeked over.

"Vocal spells are a bit… different."

"I've heard about you, and your honeyed words." Theron purred, taking hold of my wrist. "See if you can't get this lot to listen to you."

And that was when Zevran gave me one of the utmost judgmental looks I've ever seen him give anyone. I rolled my eyes and sucked in a breath through my teeth.

"Fine. How many are there?"

"I saw seven standing guard up ahead. They really don't want you getting out."

"They don't want _anyone_ getting out, Warden."

A sinister grin split my lips and my eyes flashed with a gentle, evil, red glow. The looks of horror plastered on their faces gave me just that little bit of joy that I sought.

Just a little murder.

Just. A. Little.

An evil rumble fluttered free, making my position as a murderer ever more prominent. Cracking my knuckles, I slipped out into the light and stepped forward.

"I have a request, before I do this." I don't look back at either of them. "Go find my staff. It's vital I have it. Anything else you find that you know belonged to me, get it. Bring it to me." I don't want an answer from either of them.

"Look for a room that smells like gunpowder and cigarettes. They put prisoners' belongings there, normally. If not there, I trust you to find Dan's room. He'll be in the arena or out looking for me. Be careful, would you?"

I grin again.

It's time to have a little fun.

Seven of them, like Zevran had said. Lined up and ready for anything. They're on edge. Paranoid. Several of them have worked with me, and they know what I am capable of—while restrained. Silently I moved behind a pillar and closed my eyes. One of my wounds had started to bleed again, so I drag my fingers through the crimson liquid, rubbed it between my fingers, and I waited.

 _Focus…_

 _Focus…_

Eyes open—I see the world in red.

" _You think you're going to be the one to take me down?"_ I say to the air, loud enough for them to hear. " _You're going to be his top pick for a promotion, perhaps. Kill Hawke, kill the masters' pet raptor. Who is it going to be?"_ This was always my favourite part of hunting, of stalking my prey.

" _The raptor has you in his sights, who will go first?_ " Working them up and scaring them. Entropy has always been my favoured school of magic. I switch over to another pillar as two walk forward, looking either way into the darkness.

Fingers flicked against the dark, a wave of magic visible only to those with a higher sense slipped free towards the enemy. I watched.

Waited.

I felt the pull the moment it took hold, and the strings became visible to me.

Five strings to this man's mind. Each held one of his darkest fears. All it took was a single strand to break, to twist, to somehow be manipulated by an asshole of a mage who wanted to ruin this guys' life.

The strands lined out in front of me, and I flexed my fingers in anticipation.

His breath hitched, his partner turned to him.

"Dude, are you okay?"

I plucked the first strand. I see it manifest before him, the broken strand twisting and turning into a rabid hound, blood red eyes, its maw bloodied and clamped onto the throat of a small child.

His breath hitched again and he trembled, aiming his gun and firing at the wicked orange hound.

"Jesus tap-dancing Christ! What is wrong with you!?" His partner recoiled and tried to grab hold of his arm.

First mistake.

I plucked the second and third strands and watch. The guard turned on his friend and fired. He died instantly.

This caused the others to rush to him to try and subdue him.

The group is pulled back away from where I hid, so now is the time to commit mass atrocities.

The shouting ceased with a gunshot. And their friend lies dead on the ground.

" _Well done._ " I purred, stepping into the light, my eyes still glowing. The hellish aura permeating the very air around us. Power surges through my entire body, tingling every nerve with magical potential. Their fingers on the triggers, and their attention on me.

I hold up my hands, then smile.

I felt the pull from all of them.

 _Good._

" _My darling friends."_ Says I, hands now on either side of my body, held out in submission. I clapped my hands together, and now their minds had become one.

" _It has come to my attention that you would see me dead—am I no longer your friend?"_ The guard closest to me gave a saddened look, and his shoulders slouched. They're really not as smart as I thought they'd be. All bark and no bite.

Once again I circle my hands, focusing my magic in key points.

 _"_ _I thought you were my friends."_ I feigned a whine, taking immediate note of Theron's giggle in the corner. At this point the other humans look like they're on the brink of tears. It's pitiable, as I can sense their thoughts, their heart beats, and every twitch of their muscles. All of this information is swirling around in my head and slowly I exhale, my gaze taking me to each and every individual face. I clear my throat.

 _"_ _I know how you can make it up to me—all I need you guys to do is-."_ They look at me expectantly like eager mabari pups. I make a gun with my hands and point up towards my jaw, pressing the tips against my jaw.

I give a sinister smirk.

They all, hesitantly, bring the barrels to their heads, the grin of the wicked plastered to their lips.

 _"_ _-Die."_

A chorus of gunfire echoes through the halls, followed by the sickened slump of their bodies to the floor. I step forward in the middle of the chaos, and close my eyes again, hands out on either side of my body once again. The pull of their life essence comes to me.

" _They've called me a Grave Robber for a reason."_

Power returns to me for that moment, and I felt like I was on top of the world. However, that moment was shattered as footfalls behind me brought out the instinct to fight. I whirled around, fist ready. My wrist caught by deft fingers and I soon thrown to the ground.

Theron stood over me, scowling.

"That's enough, Hawke." He knew what I was doing. "He'll follow the trail."

I am Maleficarum. I use blood for my magic, and take from others when I need it. I needed it. So I took it. But there is always a price.

Zevran still hadn't returned, and this didn't bode well for either of us. He pulled me to my feet and we took that moment to hide the bodies as best we could. The blood couldn't be helped. Nor the delicious scent of gunpowder.

Theron passed on several deadpan comments about my state of mind and physicality, but kept his distance.

He wasn't too safe around me either.

We went through the door with little issue, after my insistence on picking the lock (honestly, I've missed fiddling with locks so Theron gave me that little bit of heaven) we got through and turned down the hallway.

The paranoia of being captured again kept me on edge, and even worse with Theron now wringing his hands.

Zevran _still_ hadn't come back.

I knew that Zevran and Theron had some kind of relationship going on, but I didn't think it was any deeper than physical. Not since Morrigan…

Anyway, it's not my business to delve any further.

He must have thought I wouldn't have noticed his nervousness. Even though he stepped in line behind me, I the tension I felt from his body damn near drove me mad with my own paranoia. Over his shoulder, he'd look again and again, until I took hold of his jaw and made him look right into my eyes.

"You need to calm down." Hypocritical, first of all, but necessary. "Your worry is making _me_ far more uncomfortable than I'd like to be. Zevran will find us. He's not a fool."

Our trek fell into silence with me taking the lead in the darkness, and luckily, we were able to avoid the main body of the horde of guards. They knew we were close to getting out—I overheard one mention the levels of the compound, and we were near the top.

Thankfully.

Along the way I constantly had the worst feeling—like we were being followed. Something isn't quite ri—

I swing on my heel and bring my foot around, only narrowly missing the owner of running footsteps. I look down to see Zevran on his stomach with my staff in hand.

That would not have been good.

Theron sighed with relief as Zevran stood up, but Zevran was silent. His entire body trembled and he clutched my staff tight in hand. His breathing uneven, and frantic.

"We need to go. They saw me."

 _Shit._

I retrieved my staff from his hands and the elves quickly darted ahead. This isn't going to end well.

I halt in my tracks and send out whatever sense I could—Clairvoyance—a necessity for escape and tracking.

Lightning immediately sparked up through my veins and I let out a soul ripping scream, simultaneously dropping to my knees. It continued on for a good minute—just sheer unerring agony.

 _'_ _This is what happens when you try to bypass the seal.' Dan said, shaking his head at me. 'Are you going to do it again?'_

"No…"

I slumped forward, my forehead to the ground. My body convulsing with each jolt that raced through my body.

I-I couldn't—move. Another violent twitch, my body slumped to the side and I just—lay there. I can't move. I can't feel my legs—I can't feel _anything_.

Footsteps approaching.

"Hawke!"

Someone grabs and shakes my arm—the ground moves and a foot is in front of my face.

"Damn it, Hawke, don't faint on us now!"

It's Mahariel. That's a Mahariel voice. Two bodies lift me, over their shoulders. I'm being dragged. My feet skid into the dirt.

"Dread Wolf _take_ you Hawke, wake up, please!"

Gunfire jumpstarts my system, and I was dropped to the ground as Mahariel and Zevran suddenly run for cover.

"There he is!" a voice shouts.

 _Run._

Eyes narrowed, heart pounding, muscles straining.

 _RUN._

I scramble to my feet in blind terror—not even looking as to where I've gone.

It's too late now. It's too late. I'm doomed.

I'm doomed.

I'm… I'm going to die again.

You know the sensation you have just before something unspeakably horrible happens? The one where your stomach twists into knots tighter than a bootlace that you just can't get undone no matter how hard you try?

That kind of knot. But now with extra tingling from another—fucking—jolt of electricity.

Thanks Dan.

Asshole.

The gates.

I stopped dead in my tracks and stared ahead—blankly, but I knew exactly where I was. The fluctuation of magic was unbelievably unstable in this area. The gates were where it was weakest, and at its most powerful. Overhead loomed the room—that damned lookout—and that…

"My my, what have we here? A little runaway?"

His voice echoes in the cavernous room, and I felt like I was the only one there—the only one in his sights. The only one that was going to die this night.

"Such insult," he hissed, now visible from where I stood. "You know what I have done for you, pet? Eleven years and _this_ is the thanks I get for taking care of you and teaching you what is right? You know there is nowhere for you to go out there."

I could just see him standing there; his hands behind his back, folded neatly together. A scowl on his face, and those eyes filled with hatred.

"You're _MINE. You hear me?! MINE!"_

I swallowed at the lump in my throat and shuddered in my place and every hair on my body prickles with terror. This has to end.

Rushing forward, the blade of my staff to the ground, sparks flew up from behind and as I approached the gate, a bullet skimmed just past my head—but still I swung. I twirl my staff in hand, slicing the blade against the concrete to give off sparks. I'm angry. A whistling sound erupts from the blade as the orb on the end begins to glow with a murderous light. I hold it tight and swing it forward.

"I am not yours any longer!" I shout, spitting at the ground.

I bring the blade against the metal door and leave it there. Heat resonates from the tip into the cool grey obstruction. It creaks like a tree in the wind, a haunting melody that will forever send chills down my spine as I forced it open.

"Just try to stop me! I fucking dare you!" I roar up at the window, a finger to the air and a laugh on my tongue. The elves go through first, and I follow through.

Though I know this was wrong.

It's all very wrong.

I can't sense his magic. I can't even sense his presence. We'd been running for some uncountable time and I don't realize what I'm doing until I hear someone calling for me.

"Hawke!"

I didn't realize I'd stopped moving until I drop to my knees and retch blood onto the floor. Shit, shit shit… Had I really been hurt this badly? I hadn't… My vision's gone grey and I can barely focus on what's ahead of me.

Dizzy.

Shit.

I cough again and my forehead pressed to the ground. Everything moved too fast, my heart screamed in my ears, the noises behind us.

It's too loud.

"Don't you faint on us!" They're coming at us from behind. I manage to scramble to my feet and hurry behind the fleeing elves as best as I can. I can't keep focus. I can't see straight. I'm seeing double of everything. As if I needed more reasons to panic. Hearts aren't supposed to beat as quickly as mine is. The shouting grew closer and closer. Bullets ricochet behind me. Off the walls and just behind my feet.

I'm going to die here. I'm going to freaking die here. I don't see Theron or Zevran ahead of me until they both yank me into another corridor.

"It's this way. Go! Go! Go!" Theron, gun in hand, fires off behind me. Zevran yanks me further.

I trip.

The door is just ahead. Neither of these elves will wait any longer. I use whatever magic I can muster and force the door open. The three of us somehow manage to scramble through with the broken metal collapsing in the frame behind us, barricading the rest of those guys inside. We can hear them banging on it and trying to get through to us. I swear I've never seen elves run so fast in my entire life. I suppose running for your life from a whole party of angry guards would give enough reason.

We run off into the night; the night sky being our only witness to our escapade.

I'm laughing.

Manic with absolute terror.

The rush of terror through my veins kept my adrenaline pumping until we make a quick stop atop a hill that overlooks the city of Denerim. I hobble ahead of the panting elves when they collapse on the ground with heaving chest and ragged breaths. The blade of my staff is thrust into the ground, holding the wooden weapon in place. I eye the orb in the center, narrowing my focus onto it before my gaze is once again caught on the lights of the city. I let out another breath and drop to my knees and hold the staff tight to the crook of my neck and close my eyes.

This has been too long of a day. Too long of a night. I wipe at my eyes and just stay in place. Theron and Zevran finally sit on either side of me, their heads resting on my shoulders. Had I still had my pride intact, I would have shoved them off. But I'm grateful for them to have found me. I gently rest my arm around Theron's shoulders and he hums a soft note. I'm a fugitive now. The words dance around in my mind for minutes with each take of breath I hear from either elf. I hum in response to Zevran resting his head in my lap, his hand reaching over to rest on Theron's knee. This rescue must have taken a lot of out them. Maker bless them…I raise my gaze once again and manage to crack a smile; the city still shines, but I can't sleep.

There is no rest for the wicked, and I fear that our time here is coming to an end.

I'll let them rest. They deserved it.

But I have to go on by myself. I cannot let these two be caught up in my own chaos.

I loved them—my only best friends—and they did not deserve what I had coming for me.

Still, I stayed there with them until my own exhaustion took me.


	5. Into The Brecillian

Chapter 5 – Into The Brecillian Forest

Being so close to the city, and the compound no less, had made it almost impossible to stay asleep. I never thought that something like this could happen to me. Our trio lingered atop a hill overlooking the city. In the night, the lights were something ethereal. There were so many colours that I've never actually seen before, that I suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable.

Dan had kept me pretty sheltered while I was under his watch, from the time he had signed the papers and turned over his coin to those men, he'd kept me at his side near constantly and rarely had let me explore as my youth had wanted. I vaguely recall that the first few years of my servitude had mostly involved me with a collar around my neck and my 'leash' wrapped around his hand. Absently, I rubbed my neck and a stinging sensation brought about a hiss.

He'd cut through the skin, for certain, and feeling around, he'd cut a damn near perfect circle around my throat. My back ached and burned like nothing else, especially with the cold with now pushing through my clothes.

It still hurts to know that Dan… _No_. I _refuse_ to believe that he doesn't love me. He was just angry at me—and needed some entertainment. I always made him happy when I fought and killed the other slaves in tournaments…

My eyes lingered on the city below us for a moment, then slowly switched to the small pile in front of me. Both of them were fast asleep, curled up together as if tonight could be their last moments together.

There was shuffling between the two of them, and both had softly whispered to one another, a hand through blond tresses, and a soft kiss.

"I love you."

I…couldn't tell which one had said it.

It was as if a knife had thrust itself through my heart.

 _Gods…_

I remember Theron telling me of something that had happened between them while he was trying to find a way to stop the Blight. Zevran had tried to commit suicide by throwing himself into a battle he knew he wouldn't win. But Theron… Theron spared him.

All I knew about the Grey Wardens was that they were a Special Operations organization that were unbelievably selective with whom they enlisted within their ranks, and from what Theron had told me; once you join their cause, there's no backing out.

 _A Warden for life, is it?_

I almost wished I could have been enlisted into their group instead of with the Dawn. But what's past is past, and nothing can change that. Still, I envy them. But enough of that, I can't stay here.

Slowly, I get to my feet and give the cuddling elves one last sorrowful look. They've both gone back to sleep. I dipped my head, turned, and headed down the hill.

I have to go south. And going south means that I have to trek the wonder that is the Brecilian forest.

The wind in my ears, and my eyes barely adjusted to the dark of the night, I can barely make out the treeline ahead of me, and with that I spotted a pair of gleaming golden eyes.

Staring at me.

I blinked, quickly turned back towards where Zevran and Theron were, then looked back and—

They're gone. The eyes are gone.

Great.

Just great.

 _Wolves._

I rolled my shoulders and continued onwards, my staff assuming the position of a walking stick, right into the dark of the night.

 _Maker, is it dark out here…It's no wonder why people do their best to stay out of this forest._

I wandered for a good while, using what little sparks of magic I could to see through the dense blackness. Several times an upturned root caught my foot and I'd stumble, sometimes I would fall, but I'd get right back up and keep moving. At this point, it wasn't even adrenaline that kept me going, but the fact that Dan more than likely has sent for hunters to come after me.

It's pretty ironic; now the hunter has become the hunted.

I'd laugh if it weren't such a horrible situation to be in.

My face hit something hard and rough—a tree no doubt—but instead of going around like any sane person would, I pulled back and just dropped to the ground.

Warmth caresses my skin, my body involuntarily unfurls towards it with the innate desire to grab hold and not let go. Memories flow freely through my mind of _him_ and his warm, firm hands on me, of his lips softly beckoning me to open up and give him what he wants. And I so desperately _want_ to give it to him.

I want to please him. It's the only thing that I want, and it's the only thing I know.

He took me in. He made me the man that I am today. He defended me and he pushed me and always wanted what was best for…

Best?

Was is really the best for me?

Was it really what I wanted?

Do I… Do I still want that…? Him…?

" _Dan…"_

His name slipped through my lips, and my eyes flutter open. Above me; a blue sky dotted with soft white clouds, beneath me; sturdy blades of grass, and dirt beneath my fingernails. Recollection comes slowly, but memories of the past few hours return, and the nauseating feeling hit me in waves. Almost like a large stone being repeatedly dropped into a pool of water.

That kind of sickening feeling.

 _No._ I scold myself, shaking my head after the nausea passed; _None of this can be real. I'm probably out on some mission; this has to just be another one of his tests. Got caught up and managed to get myself all turned around. Good fucking job, Hawke._

I glanced behind me, looking through where the trees thinned and towards the hill. There is no sign of either of my rescuers.

 _Just a mission. Probably finished up late last night and passed out here._ I rubbed my face and pulled my fingers through my hair. _Dan's gonna be so pissed that I didn't report in yet._

I stretch out in some vain attempt to grab hold of… _something_ …and it does. Instead of a bunch of leaves or even a rock, my fingers close around something soft beneath the crunch of something slightly damp with dew. I pull a torn jacket from 'neath a pile of leaves and hold it before myself. Already shivering from cold, I put it on without hesitation and wrap my arms around myself.

For the first moment, I tried to concentrate on flame; however, the next I found myself crying out in agony as every last drop of mana was forcibly drained from my body. The undersides of my wrists glow an eerie blue. Forehead pressed firm to the ground, my teeth grit until the agony subsides.

No magic… That's right…

A soft halo of a red sphere catches my eye, and the glint of the sun showed me my staff propped up against a tree. Dunno how it got there…

 _My staff… those guards… his guards…_

Last night… Oh Gods…

The Compound… I fought my way through it…

The stench of blood and sweat, the agonized cries of tortured victims… The fresh lashings cling to my clothes and a whole new array of stinging sensations prickle about each wound.

If I reached back, I'd feel the raised flesh beneath my fingertips.

 _No, fool, stay focused on your mission… You have to get back to Denerim and check in. He hates it when you're late. Don't dally._

I felt around each pocket of my jacket and my jeans and found nothing of worth. But as I shifted, something cold and metallic suddenly slid across the skin around my neck and squeaked in surprise, grabbing at it only to find something cool and metallic in place of what I somehow had mistaken for a small blade.

Quickly unclasping it, Flemeth's pendant dropped into the palm of my hand. For a moment, I'd forgotten why _and how_ I had it, but I remembered. I made a promise.

Still, how Dan hadn't taken it or even _mentioned it_ was a blessing in its own.

The metallic dragon's head shimmers in the morning light, a marvel of its own.

It's very pretty.

To my feet, I stumbled back and caught myself on a tree, then quickly turned behind me to see if there was anything familiar—and there wasn't. No hill, no elves, no nothin'.

I took a few steps forward and near scared the shit out of myself as my staff jumped a good foot or so away from me. Back against the tree, hand to my panicked heart, I laughed at myself—my stupidity.

Pulling myself to my senses, I went over and grabbed up my staff, fingering over the smooth, decorated wood and tugging at a loose string on the ribbon. As my eyes trailed over the orb at the top, my attention went right back towards the hill. I think I came from the north, because I could see an indent in the grass and a sloppy, almost drunken, trail leading right to my resting point.

All around me, silence clung to the air with no desire to let loose its grip, and so I listened. A hunter must always know his surroundings, if only by sound and scent.

Winds rustles through the leaves overhead and along the ground, pulling my attention south. A stream glides seamlessly over smooth stone and gentle dip of the land. Where there's water, there's bound to be animals. Maybe rabbits or a deer or two.

Hands splayed out, I let my sense wander. It's not too powerful a magic to alert my inhibitors, so I could play with the aura of the forest; the world became far more clear, and with that came the outline of several small animals, and a large buck over the hill.

My stomach roars in protest of no meal, and the stone in my gut sank even lower.

Shaking my head, I start south despite knowing I had to go north to get back to the Compound… I don't want to go back.

 _Ugh… I could really use some breakfast… and maybe a piss._ I decide, trying to keep my mind from wandering too far into the dark backroom of my subconscious.

Before I leave… I look up to the tree and give it a weak smile.

"Thank you for protecting me."

Thankfully the trek down a slope through knee-high grass requires some conscious maneuvering. That I outright failed to navigate and slipped on a wet patch, fell flat on my ass, and slid down a good foot or two into the sodden grass.

I've definitely been in better shape before, and now I'm even worse for wear in terms of sleeping on the fucking ground. Standing up again, I limped through more of the grass and finally found purchase where the grass thinned and shortened.

Stretching, joints popped and a groan left me somewhere along that time—but now what?

 _Who could I have been sent out here to hunt?_ I think, not content with a lack of knowing, but with such, my mind created some brand new scenario to satiate this bizarre lack of intel. _Some rich-ass Dukes and Dames live out in the middle of ass-end nowhere, I'm sure one of the Court would like their privacy… I'm gonna make quite some coin from this little excursion._

The woods were quiet and remote, and seemingly abandoned. Tension rose in the wood, and in the very air around me with every step I took as if warning me of my trespassing. Did I heed the warning?

Fuck no.

I have a job to do.

That being said… Even the birds dispersed far quicker from their perches as I'd pass beneath them. I saw no sign of fox nor mouse, and it was a blessing in its own that the damned plants weren't mobile. But I'm still starving, and I damn well can't focus on the task at hand without food.

Go me for managing to think ahead.

Along my trek, I snagged up some pretty looking berries and a few mushrooms I found growing along the ridge of a rotted log, then plopped myself on a large rock at the side of the stream.

 _White ones are a safe bet, right?_

 _Ah, fuck it. Down the hatch._

I swallowed down my 'breakfast' greedily. The berries, black on the outside but held a reddish juice on the inside, tasted sweet and bitter; the mushrooms tasting something akin to cardboard and had pretty much the same texture if not a bit fluffier. I took the lack of flavor as a soon sign.

I wish I had a good wholesome breakfast right about now.

Give me eggs, bacon, steak and toast anytime.

Please.

The longer I wander, the more my thoughts followed suit. It's only going to get worse from here. My chest aches, my throat is dry, and I haven't eaten in Maker knows how long, and my mind keeps going back to him…

I could honestly wait out here for someone to come get me to take me back to him… but I… that's not a good idea. I know it isn't a smart idea. So my legs continue on autopilot and I have no say in the matter as to whether or not I actually go back.

I really wish I had some coffee to keep warm, or maybe a nice brandy.

Thinking of coffee brings me back to the morning before that day, in the backroom with the sweet Irishman. A man with a feisty attitude, a beautiful smile, and a moan that even the memory of makes me hard. I'd love to get back to the Crossroads again… I wish I could go back before everything got so fucked…

 _Hah…_

 _Going back to him now… he'll be waiting for me, smiling with his hands folded over the head of his cane. He'll chide me for being reckless and remind me that I'm all his…_

Such thoughts send delightful shivers down my spine—enough that I have to sit down and take a deep breath or two so blood returns to where it was needed.

I stood, perhaps, a bit too quickly, as everything went blurry for a short moment. Then suddenly flashing in sharp white shards of light.

 _Chains rattle above my head, my arms bound, the frigid floor tiles permanently stained with my blood; tortured howls and breathless groans echo throughout the cavernous chamber…_

 _I still feel his hands on me… All over my body…_

The thought is forced from my mind just as quickly as it came, and I pressed my hand over my racing heart, curling against my knees and rapidly shaking my head trying so desperately to change these memories. Every time I try to switch to something else, the next one has something so much worse. My forehead between my knees, breaths coming out in shallow huffs and my heart thuds painfully against my chest, sweat beads my forehead and suddenly my body grows hot. Discomfort and panic races throughout my body and then—

Cold.

Everything goes cold. I couldn't even feel the wind—and I shiver. Sweat drips down the sides of my cheeks, though, it's not sweat. Sweat doesn't come from the corners of your eyes.

 _Fuck this! No! No more! Please just—no more!_ I beg myself to throw the thoughts away, but nothing seemed to cease the onslaught of vivid memories violently penetrating that wall in my mind.

 _I have to get back…_ I stand abruptly, and as the weight of the world crashes down upon my shoulders, I stumble over with the grace of a newborn giraffe, and the motor control of a shit-faced drunk; the kind of drunk where nothing is fun and nothing feels good.

" _Come now, my love," he says, "my favourite… my cherished…"_

"His only…"

Tears streak freely down my cheeks as I use my staff to hobble along, shoulders hunched and my chest aching with each sob I hold back.

I need to get away from here.

I need to go home!

…

I need Odin.

"ODIN!" I call out, my voice breaking as panic takes over. There is no answer from my hound, not even as quickly as he usually comes rushing to my side. "ODIN!"

I'm alone. I'm scared. And I'm going to die.

This is all just a bad dream. A bad dream. Any minute now I'll wake up, and I'll be at his side, curled up beneath silk sheets and his arms. Right?

Right.

Right…

 _No…_ I shake my head, giving out the final exaggerated breath of exhaustion. My energy is all but drained from my panic, and the adrenaline has left me near numb. I wipe my nose and sniff against the cold wind.

A sound in the distance—shuffling, rustling, snuffling. A beast?

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!_

One minute there wasn't a damn animal in sight, and the next, I was surrounded by wolves! WOLVES! I didn't even know there were that many left in Europe! Of all places I had to run into! I wandered right into their den!

Branches smack into my face as I forced myself into a panicked sprint, rushing through all sorts of flora—most of which ended up hitting me in the face but still—I'm running for my life, and I can hear their breaths behind me. They're almost on me—

 _Nononononono I can't die here! I won't be dog food!_

The steady drum of paws in the underbrush haunts me as I trip and stumble. I had shed my coat about a mile back after one had caught the tail end of it in its teeth. My staff had also fallen victim to abandonment, which was my first mistake. They gradually gain on me, pressing me forward and skirting around me as if I were nothing more than a young, terrified, lamb. Every time I thought they were going to go in for the kill, they'd fall back, but their pace was always coordinated. Always pushing me forward. Pushing me towards…

I went right over the bank, my foot caught hold of an upturned root, and I fell a good two or three feet right into a muddy pit. My back hit the ground first, and every breath rushed out of me, so I lay there like a fool, staring up at the sky, and then the underbelly of the leader of this little troupe as it leaped overhead. I only had mere seconds to recollect myself and scramble to my feet, only to make a mad dash further into the forest. Rocks crumbled beneath my weight as I climbed up the stone wall, several of which hit the large bitch right on her head—and Maker, she was _not_ having any of that from me.

She goes for my leg and only just misses as I pull myself up to safety. I only have seconds to catch my breath before her pack is once again after me.

It seemed that they would not relent, as if I had insulted their very God himself. The further I ran, the darker it became, and despite the season—soon the canopy had blotted out sunlight with their verdant leaves—this was the magic of the Brecilian Forest, though I had no idea what kind of magic had kept it like this…

It was something worth studying had I not been running for my life!

There! Ahead!

I managed to catch my breath at the base of a particularly thick spruce. Sweat beads my brow and my lungs ache with each wheeze.

 _Gods I never realized how out of shape I am…_ The heavy scent of pine and sap clogs my nose, and I reach up, grasping the first branch, and pull myself up. Higher and higher into the needles that dug into my sides and my skin, but even at this point I barely noticed the small pains and only focused on hoping that the scent of pine would mask my scent.

The last thing that I shed were my boots, which fell unceremoniously to the ground in a heap, and so I was able to get a decent perch on a thick branch and wait out the sounds of my pursuers.

Nothing. No sound of snuffling, no howls, and no rapid footfalls through the leaves either, there's not even a single bird making song in the canopy. The forest is as silent as it had been when I first set foot beyond the tree-line.

This doesn't bode well…

I let my magic wander, trying to reach out to feel the energy of what is around me, the soft and subtle hum of the forest is there, however, the strain of using my magic proves to be far too much for me, and I clutch onto my branch for dear life as the world once again starts spinning round me.

After what I can only imagine had been a good hour wasted up in a tree, I figure that the wolves had given up and went home, so I dropped down from my perch and tucked into a roll. On my knee, I hurriedly snag up my boots and lace them back up and finally cast a sour glance back where I'd shed most of my belongings…

I can see the faint glimmer of my staff a good couple of feet away, so I rush to grab it up. The wood against my palms is a good feeling; it's solid and familiar, and gave me a wonderful grounding feeling. Perhaps I could re-trace my steps back to the path that I'd strayed from, but I'm going to have to stay as far away from that wolf den as possible…

The idea gives me hope, and so I need to cling to it with everything I've got… I'm not too horrible with directions, and suddenly I feel light on my feet. Despite my boots, I feel very connected to the Earth. The soft grass and the crunch of leaves brought me ever closer to my roots.

 _I'm a powerful magic user._

I laugh.

I haven't been powerful, or even remotely worthy of calling myself a mage since Danarius had put these damnable brands on me. No matter which way I turned my wrists, I only watched as the burned markings shimmer an unhealthy blue when light hit them. These things…

"Hah!" I laugh, "What sorcerer would allow himself to be chained so easily as I had let him chain me!?"

I laughed again, and again, and soon the giggling had become manic and loud. The fit of laughter died off as my breathing became little more than frantic gasps for breath, and I dropped to my hands and knees, breathing heavier and harder. Tears fled freely down my cheeks and splattered onto the leaves below, with each crackle of water to plant, they left trails of vivid blues and pinks in their wake.

"Wo-o-oah…"

As I breathe, the air becomes mists of rest and it hovers before me, and as I draw back onto my knees and look about—the trees! Oh, man, the trees are like a fucking kaleidoscope of shimmering colours! Every time I move, the shapes shift and change colour and I stared in awe. No longer was there silence, ah, hell no! Every colour hummed with its own song. Greens were the slow and buttery tenor, blues thrummed their deep baritone voices, yellows and oranges seemed to compete as soprano, and the reds were smooth contraltos that seemed to match the pitch of my own racing heart.

A symphony of music just for me!

Above me, the air took on the shape of butterflies; pure white and energetic, they fluttered overhead and as I reached out to touch one—

The world shut down into greys and blacks as I came face to face with the tip of a notched arrow and suddenly surrounded by a crowd of angry painted faces. Two of them reached for me with lightning speed that I couldn't even _begin_ to grasp and forced my arms behind my back, the third keeping the arrow to my throat. A fourth face remained still behind the archer.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" The archer said, smiling down at me. It wasn't a friendly smile, no, it was something wicked and twisted like a nightmare. His essence was sharp and unyielding, and it became even more twisted as his friend yanked my hair and pulled my head up to face him. "Lost shem?"

"This is the bumbling oaf that's been wreaking havoc through our forest," the voice to my right spat.

"Leaving his filthy clothes on our hunting grounds, riling up the wolves, and abandoning dangerous magical artifacts with no regard for the lives of others!" the one to my left agreed. "We should gut him and leave his innards for the wolves."

"No." came a softer voice. Its essence leaked golden wafts of light from behind the archers dark, shielded presence. "He is a guest to our forest, while a stupid one at that, he's clearly lost from his home, and sick with Angel's Fever."

"If he is sick, the he needs to be put down. Out of his misery." The elf on my left replied. "No one wants a sick dog."

His words echoed in my mind, and suddenly the elf in front of me was replaced by Danarius—his sick smile tearing into my like a hot knife. My stomach turned and dark spots danced around in my vision. I doubled over and groaned, feeling my insides rising up into my throat. Every breath hurt, and it was almost like I forgot how to breathe properly. I wish I knew where I'd left my staff—I wish I had even an ounce of mana left. Maybe I could have fought my way out of this, maybe I could have brought these pathetic children to their knees and listen to their pleas for their lives—or maybe listen to them _beg_ me to kill them…

"Then let us return him to his Gods."

As delightful as the thoughts had been, a sharp pain in my gut only had _me_ wishing for the sweet relief of death. And I have never wanted it so desperately as my body breaks out into a cold sweat, and my vision goes grey.

I should have died with a bullet in my brain, back in the filthy streets of Denerim. I never should have accepted Flemeth's proposal, no matter how desperate I may have been. What is dead, should stay dead.

That is the first rule of magic. The first rule of life. No exceptions.

Yet I _am_ the exception.

I'm an abomination for still having breath.

I feel their release, the sweet sensation as I fall face first into the dirt. I felt their power, their strength, as I was dragged along the ground and listened to the grunts of the elves. When I landed, I started giggling again. Laughing at the pitiful turn my life has taken. I don't deserve their mercy.

Tears fall freely at the first feeling of soil hitting my back.

I can't breathe.

I can't breathe.

The symphony has been silenced, and I no longer hear anything. I only feel the bitter hands of the cold creep over me. I can't breathe, and as I try, I only inhale dirt.

I cry out for someone—for anyone—for Danarius, for Zevran, for Theron. The noise that leaves my pleading lips isn't my own. I'm lost.

And I'm all alone.

 _Hawke… Hawke… Damn it, Hawke!_

Zevran? Where are you? I can't see you!

My vision remains black, and I can barely breathe.

 _The Grey Wardens could use someone of your caliber, y'know. You're a wild card, being a mage and all that, don't know what to expect from your mouth or your fingers. I don't know if I could convince Alistair that you're worth the risk._

Theron… I can't do that, no one should be put at risk for my sake. I'm not worth it. I'm useless. He won't allow me to leave him to join your ranks, you know that. I really appreciate your offer, but I have to stay…

 _What have I told you about slacking off, pet? We can't have you getting stiff and boring, now can we?_

Danarius… My hand outstretched towards his voice, but there is resistance. It's weak, but so am I. I'm weak, I'm not what you wanted of me. I was supposed to be loyal, to be powerful like you. I'm your bodyguard. I'm your servant. I'm your lover. I'm your precious toy…I belong to you…

 _Dan…_

I shove harder, and some of it gives way, like a barrier before me. There's not enough power. Not yet.

 _Garrett Lee Malcolm Hawke._

The voice is so much louder than the rest, and at its tone I shudder. It is not sweet or gentle, nor worried. It is the voice of an angry deity. Of course I'd be the one to piss off some holy terror. I try to cover my ears to blot out the voices, but my arms are pinned to my sides by some kind of restraint. It's like it was created to prevent me from facing the inevitable.

 _Child, how did you ever manage to get yourself into such a position?_ Her voice is like needles prickling the back of my mind, and I shift in irritation. _You are my chosen. My Champion. You will lead armies. You will bring greatness._

I have to get out—I have to get rid of this weight on my chest! Get away from that horrible sound. A final thrust forward and the barrier shatters, and my fingers greet the chilled air. As it goes through, I will the rest of my body to follow.

 _Remember, that my strength guides you, my Champion. Go forth, unafraid. Become the beacon of my holy light, and_

Yes… My Lady…

I carve out the barrier above me. Earth fills my mouth, my eyes, and I sputter and struggle to pull myself free—but somehow I manage. With stinging and aching limbs, I drag myself out of my grave and choke on the chilled air.

Violent coughs and choking on dirt do not make for a righteous entrance.

I fell to my side, gasping for air and moaning in agony.

I'm free…!

The sun is rude. So very, very rude. I unfold myself onto my back and choke out a hoarse cough and then followed by a sneeze. Squinting against the burning light, I manage to shield my eyes and groan as I can finally blink away the sleep… or is that dirt?

I sit upright far too quickly and the world spins around me, briefly, thankfully. My legs are covered in dirt.

By the Gods…

Those assholes buried me alive!

Finally, I pulled my legs free and push myself back onto my knees, rubbing my eyes and holding my head. A throbbing headache, and aching lungs. Wonderful.

If I wanted shortness of breath, I'd just start smoking again…

God I wish I had a cigarette right now.

After a moment to collect myself, I stand on shaking legs, and as soon as I look up, I sneeze again.

Shit. I do _not_ need to be sick right now. Even moving a little has my stomach flipping in knots. I rest my head on my hand and let out an exasperated sigh.

Damn this weather and damn myself for not thinking about potential illness.

I hold myself steady for a few minutes before I can will myself to walk.

My throat burns with each breath.

I could really use a drink.

There _has_ to be a river around here somewhere, right?

I hobble about with the grace of an infant, but I'm finally moving again.

I can hear it! The soft lure of running water sings to me, with promise of cool relief!

My body won't adhere to my mind telling it to stop. Stop because I'm on the brink of vomiting from too much sudden stimulation. Another brisk wind sends a violent chill through my body and I inhale just sharp enough to send myself keeling over and into a coughing fit. In between each gasp I'm cussing up a storm.

I'm making it worse.

There's something in the grass. I know there is because I kicked something hard and metallic… The hell was it?

It's a gauntlet.

It's worn and battered but it's very familiar. It kind of looks like the gauntlet of a hero from an old video game, and honestly… I quite like how each plate lays upon the other. I pick it up and turn it about in my hands. Of course, most people would just put it back.

I, however, do not.

I put it on my right hand. It fits perfectly. I flex my stiff fingers beneath the metal claws and rotate my arm around for better looks. The cloth beneath the metal is a rather lovely red color. I like the way it feels, so I think I'll keep it.

The meek chuckle I give as I flex my hand in my newly acquired armor piece was perhaps the best thing I could do before I righted myself to continue on. The weight of the world is dragging me down, and since I'm about as graceful as a newborn giraffe in my present state I have to put all my focus into not falling over.

But I make it to the river, with more or less another additional coughing fit as I kneel at the bank and scoop the icy water into my mouth. I do this several times, with increasing difficulty as my coordination isn't all there, and most of it instead sliding down the outside of my throat and into my shirt, and slipping back between my fingers. Then I get a look at myself in the reflective surface.

I'm a disaster. A walking disaster. My beard has matted and grown long, matted up with dirt and leaves and Maker knows what else plus now it's soaking wet. My hair seems to have also decided that it wants me to look like a hippie, it's almost touching my shoulders, I mean, I know my hair grows fast but this is ridiculous. I check for scars, well, more scars—I've gained quite a few new ones on my face. A good sliver of my eyebrow is missing and I have a new gash below my eye and along my collarbone across one of my tattoos. I have what looks to be the remnant of a black eye and so many bruises and I'm absolutely _covered_ in blood and dirt.

The uncertainty of my own laugh both confuses and scares me as I glide my fingers through my hair, lifting my bangs out of my eyes. It really grew in such a time. The laughter continues for a few moments until yet another coughing fit stops me and I damn near dunk my head into the river for more water.

Well, I do that anyway.

The frigid water is a pleasant shock to my system, however there is that brief second that another coughing fit acts up and I yank myself back, now choking on both air and water.

Not the smartest decision, but it's refreshing.

I slick my hair back and raise my face to the sun just as it disappears behind a cloud. Even the cold water sliding down my jacket doesn't bother me anymore. I'm completely numb.

For the moment anyway. The shock is rejuvenating and I feel like I actually have energy, so I stand up…

…And I fall backwards flat on my ass.

If Theron were here he'd be wheezing from laughter. I can only imagine how stupid I look right now; a large, apparently homeless looking, man just sitting in the mud with a dazed expression?

Yep. That's got to be it.

Gods I miss those two already.

My mind is reeling through possibilities of me just living in these woods like an old creepy hermit used to. I think the sylvan ate him or something crazy like that, I don't even know, Theron told me about him a few months after the Blight was over and I believed him.

I wish I hadn't. Now I'm even more paranoid. My instincts tell me to look around—so I do—at the treetops. Theron always said there was a way to tell whether or not it's a sylvan, a tree that's possessed by a demon or a spirit, they vary in size but are much smaller than an ent, and he said it was in their leaves, or something of that sort.

I don't remember, okay?

Either way, I'm looking around like a fool in a haze when something strikes my back, not hard—but enough to jerk my attention back at the assailant.

Zevran's there. Laughing. How the hell did he find me out here?

"Arainai." I say as I attempt to pull myself to my feet. "How on earth-?" I stumbled forward into the shallow end of the river and hiss at the sting of cold, but quickly turn back towards my friend and jog over to him.

"You're not hard to track, my friend, at least for a skilled assassin such as myself." He's not wearing any kind of armor, but a rather warm looking red jacket with a furry hood, normal jeans, a well decorated scarf, and a pair of (rather fashionable) black hiking boots. Zevran in casual wear is unusual and I don't like it—as much. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and saunters over to me with a smirk on his lips.

I open my mouth to speak but he just holds up a finger and fishes something shiny out of his pockets.

"Actually I forgot to give you these before we left you here." His hand is open to me and there's a ring with my family's crest on it. It's large and an off-black metal with a silver background in the center, engraved with two hawks intertwining their talons together on the dead center. I gape at him for a moment before he just takes my unarmored hand and slips it on my finger. I freeze.

Not only did I not expect this—but the metal is absolutely _frigid_. I look at him, confused, but grateful.

"This belonged to you, yes?" He folds my fingers to my palm and held my hand, giving me that sly grin of his.

"Aye." I mustered—my voice having decided that _now_ was a perfect time to desert me.

There's a tickle. And I instinctively turn my head and sneeze into my arm. Another shiver wracks my body. I just go _ugh_ and Zevran pulls back with his hands in defense.

Smooth, Zevran, very smooth. I chain the tags around my neck and look at them.

"I take back what I said about you before, Hawke, _now_ you look like shit." He laughs. I lightly push him in response. When I looked back at him, he had my staff in his hands.

How did he even-?

"Serves me right for abandoning you two, yeah?" I take it without question and hold it tight.

"I'd say so." The elf crosses his arms and pouts, then motions for me to follow. So like any intelligent person, I obey and hobble after him as he backtracks the path I had taken and right onto a set path.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I stop and hunch over, glaring hard at him.

"You're the one who has no sense of direction, Hawke."

Whatever.

"Where's Theron?"

He doesn't answer immediately—or at all for that matter—and that's worrisome.

I drag my hand over my face and just wish I could conjure up some warmth right now. Even wishing the thought could warm me up.

It does not.

I've been dragged about on numerous occasions by Zevran before, quite literally right now his hand is wrapped around my wrist and he's pulling me along the trails. He seemed to know just where to turn and when to avoid being seen.

But as we continued on our traveling, he seemed to get more and more worried. Eventually he starts off on something involving Theron wanting to go searching for a certain someone—I can only guess it was the woman he used to be with before he met Zevran, but that's a weighted guess. Something else involving the king goes ignored as my mind wanders off to auto-pilot.

"Garrett."

The stump beneath me started to catch onto a tear in my jeans, so as I moved, they ripped even more. It feels like deaths frigid fingers are trying to take me down, my body now trembling with cold. I had been looking over my fingers, which now seemed to pale out and turn an off purple, when the mention of my name snapped my gaze up to the pretty face standing above me.

Zevran had his phone in hand, though his attention was turned to me for that moment, then back to his phone. A relieved sigh followed him returning it to his pocket.

"The Warden Commander is on his way to the Brecilian Passage." What?

"On his way? How? Neither of you had a car anywhere near here when you rescued me." I mime the voice in my head, quickly turning to look at the painted elf.

"That's because we followed you on foot, you fool." He only shrugs and passes me.

"Well, he probably stole one." _More than likely._ Zevran looks over the back of his hand with ever growing interest, his brows furrowed and his usual grin becoming rather… grim.

"Come, let us get moving before you get hypothermia." He grabs hold of my forearm and tugs me forward, somehow pulling me to my feet. As I stand, I brush off and start forward only to stumble over a loose rock and damn near fall over again.

 _Pathetic,_ I tell myself, Zevran snickers behind me and quickly pats my shoulder. The painted elf skirted around me and made his way forward, his ever fashionable boots hoofing through a pile of leaves and sending them fluttering into the air.

I sniff and wipe my nose, ignoring the burn of rubbing it raw as Zevran, to his ever strange nature, appears in front of me with a handkerchief pressed to my face.

He just smiles at me as I take it, turns sharply on his heel, and paces forward without me.

And I watch his hips sway with his walk. I can do so without shame because, _damn_ , Zevran is sexy.

I won't ever deny that I find him attractive.

Never.

Anyway, I kick myself into actually moving in stride with him, which is far more hilarious than it should have been; Zev takes far more steps than I do and I about outpace him like I'm actually trying to beat him to the next thin line of trees.

We passed by a sleeping Sylvan, and I damn near panicked when it woke up and looked at us. Thankfully it wasn't hostile, just a bit irritated that a stupid human and an elf wandered too close to it. The beast wandered away to find a new place to sleep.

The line of trees gave way to a near empty roadway. A side road through the woods heading north to Denerim, or South to Lothering, but really I had no idea which way was which. I would have shouted out my relief, but a painful coughing fit pretty much prevented any means of speaking for a good minute.

My eyes burn, my nose hurts, and I feel like death. According to Zevran, I _look_ like death. A disgusting, bedraggled mess.

 _Hah… Maybe Dan was right about that after all…_

I collapse to my knees near the roadside in dirt and gravel, my legs feeling like they're on _fire_ after all, and immediately start pulling out tufts of grass. A nervous habit.

The elf leaned back against the road signpost, arms folded, ankles crossed, eyes glued to a stone at his feet.

He looks so… sad. Distant…

I look back to the roadway and pull my knees to my chest, chin resting on top of my knees.

The scent of tobacco caught my attention and I immediately looked to Zevran. He'd lit a cigarette and held it between his teeth—and it's already half gone. He exhales a long, pale cloud through his nose and mouth. He looks like a dragon.

A handsome dragon.

"Since when did you smoke?" I choke on yet another cough, and he frowns as he holds it away from himself. Zevran doesn't answer immediately and, instead, settles down next to me.

"I don't." He takes another long drag then blows it in my face.

"Then why _are_ you?" The smoke doesn't bother me at all, in fact, I quite enjoy the sweet smell of it. But in my current health situation it triggers another coughing fit and I immediately turn away into the crook of my arm.

He plucks another one out and holds it out to me.

"For later, when you're feeling better."

I take it and stick it behind my ear, then twirl a twig between my fingers. My attention is aimed at the ground once again, but I can hear his breathing go uneven.

"Zevran, what happened?"

"Whatever do you mean, Garrett? Nothing has happened and all is well."

I growled and rub my face then prod him with a clawed finger.

"First of all, you're a terrible liar, and second of all, you didn't have those cuts before we separated."

Zevran froze, smiled up at the sky and seemingly rethought his words.

Whatever it was, it had to be pretty bad if it had _Zevran_ smoking.

"When we woke up, you weren't there. We'd thought that they had come in the night and whisked you away again. We'd almost gone back to that accursed place before the Warden found your tracks leading off into the forest." He laughs weakly. "Let me tell you, it was a relief. We didn't want to have to risk our lives again in that place, no, they would have been on high alert if you had been taken back…" The elf flicks my nose with a playful grin… but that grin became bitter, and tears welled in his eyes.

"They were in the forest. The slave hunters." He blinks, and they roll down his cheeks. "Those bastards were on your trail, Garrett, and they had a mage with them, one that was tracking your essence like it was the most obvious trail—you know, like you had put up a bunch of fucking signs saying 'here I am! Come and get me!' You idiot."

He's… he's crying.

"For a trained assassin as intelligent as you're supposed to be, you're a fucking moron when it comes to actually escaping."

"Wow, thanks Zevran, really."

"Oh, shut up!" Zevran snaps. I flinch on instinct and our eyes lock.

The next thing I knew, his phone was in my hand, and the messenger was up.

 **Zevran** (6:24am):  
Please tell me you've not been taken captive again. Or found a man more handsome than I!?

 **Zevran** (6:40am):  
Theron, love, please.  
Answer me.

 **Theron** (7:00am):  
I hope you realize just how hard it is to jumpstart a truck. It's fucking impossible.

 **Theron** (7:03am):  
Where are you?

 **Zevran** (7:27am):  
Wandering. Looking for you-know-who. Dumbass had someone on his trail.

 **Theron** (7:30am):  
What of them, then?  
I'll meet you at the pickup.  
Find me when you find him.

 **Theron** (7:31am):  
Make sure you're not followed. We rescued him for a reason, don't fuck it up.

 **Zevran** (7:32am):  
Found him. En route as we speak.  
(Image Attached)  
(There's a picture of me soaking wet, sitting dazed in the mud.)

 **Theron** (7:40am):  
L-O-L  
Potassium

I know Zev's not worried about the goons and he's not worried about Theron. But something is bothering him. Knowing him, though, he won't talk about it so I shake the thought out of my head and watch the road, shifting uneasily when a car speeds past us. He takes his phone back but doesn't put it away. I lean over to see; his home screen is just the two of them, kissing and looking like they're having a great time.

"Is that a corpse in the background?" I point out.

"Why, yes, it is." His sigh is almost romantic. "It was a good kill." He tosses the cigarette butt onto the asphalt and we watch another car run it over. My mind begs to prod, but I just look at him instead, an understanding look.

"You two must be happy together." Is all I respond as a truck passes on the far side, then pulls over and stops in the dirt. Zevran only smiles at me when he stands.

"There's our ride." Zevran chimes. He helps me up again.

"Ach." I've grown accustomed to the winces by now, but it still hurts. Theron rolls down the window and waves his hand at us. Some weird ritualistic music is playing. I settle into the backseat, laying my staff across my lap. I feel like it's just really bad cosplay with how long the damn thing is.

Zevran ignores it momentarily as Theron starts speaking in Elvish. I rest my head against the window, thankful for the warmth of this acquired vehicle. It's a welcome gift in this horrible nightmare. Their voices sort of evaporate out right about the same time I fell asleep.

" _Like a phoenix." She sings. "Risen from the ash, born anew to take on the world." Her wings spread wide and then slowly curls them around me. Her grin is of something almost motherly, though I know better._

" _I do not fear death, and I will not fail you again."_

"…Wake up!"

"Damn it, Hawke, wake up!"

I'm being shaken. My throat's burning.

I snap my head in the direction of whoever is shaking me and blink rapidly.

It's Theron. Zevran is cackling like a lunatic in his seat.

Apparently we've stopped somewhere.

"Creators have mercy; you snore like a freaking bear."

"Maybe I _am_ a bear." My response is immediate and slurred. I rub my eyes and blink, also wiping my mouth.

 _Fuck, was I drooling?_

Theron slids out of his seat and exits the truck, then follows up by opening the door on my end. He leads me out and holds me up.

I feel like I'm going to pass out at any second.

Theron looks worried and he keeps holding onto me, I hunch over and he presses his hand to my forehead, brushing hair out of my eyes.

"Gods you're beautiful."

"And you have a fever. Are you not well?"

What? Was my incessant coughing and sneezing not enough of a clue? I push his hand away and shake my head, a snarl on my lip.

How the hell does he think I'm feeling? I feel even worse now that it was warm! I just growl at him and cough into my arm, and that turns into a really bad coughing fit—so bad that I have to hold onto the door just to keep from falling over.

I might as well hack up my damn lungs while I'm at it.

I clutch at my ribs and stomach and I'm shaking, violently.

This is probably one of the few times when I've actually gagged.

"We need to get you to a doctor—"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" I roar, ensuing yet another coughing fit as I force myself to my knees. Let it be known that I absolutely _despise_ doctors. I force my back against the trucks _absolutely freezing_ exterior with wide eyes. "There is no way you're going to get me into a—" I choke on my words again and ram my fist into my chest, gasping for air. "—doctors' office!"

I ball my fist in an attempt to try to swing at him if need be, but they both keep their distances. Zevran's looking at his phone and Theron just holds his hands up in defeat.

"Why the fuck not? You're not going to get better if you don't—."

"I said 'no' Theron." I hate doctors. I hate them and everything that I've been put through under their 'care'. Even thinking about it makes my skin crawl.

 _How irritating_.

The banter between us turns into a rather heated argument (accompanied by strenuous coughing fits) and there was bound to be someone getting punched—but Zevran separated the two of us and somehow became the voice of reason.

"No doctor. We get him where he has to be and that's it…"

I wipe at my eyes and nod. There's no point in arguing over something so dumb.

I clear my throat, finally able to do so without coughing or choking; "What's the next plan of action, then?"

"We have to get you somewhere safe. At least to keep you out of the spotlight until things calm down, then we can figure out just how we can get them off of your tail permanently."

"Define 'safe'. There's nowhere that they won't have agents hunting me down… and if they have mages that can trace my magic signature… then I'm not going to be able to stay in one place for too long."

"I know that." Theron pinches the bridges of his nose and turns his back to me.

The very thought of hiding is cowardly. It sickens me to have to even do it, yet now that is my only chance for survival until I'm able to get back on my feet…

"Hide you." Theron echoes again. "He knows where you live, so that's probably the first place they'll go and look—"

"What about Odin?" I immediately stand up straight from leaning with a creak in my throat. "I'm not leaving without my dog. You know I can't leave without him—I need him!" The look Theron gives me is absolutely priceless.

He does a thing with his jaw and looks at the ground even though my concern is genuine. He's about to speak when Zevran interrupts.

"Oh, you didn't know, did you?" The painted elf places his hands on Theron's shoulders. "Odin is Garrett's service dog. Y'know, for when he sort of loses himself?"

"He's the only companion that I really need to have at my side, and he's a war dog so I'll have some kind of defense until I can regenerate my magic. Please, Theron."

Theron does the jaw thing again and moves away, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Fine. However we'll have to separate and one of us will have to go get your dog. You going home is out of the question, you're not well, and they'll recognize you easily. Plus you stick out like a sore thumb."

Thank the Gods… I'll have my dog.

"But then what?" I ask. "Where in Ferelden could the mighty Hero of Ferelden send little old me? I hear the Wilds are lovely this time of year, hell, maybe I could go live with that old woman out in the swamps, or maybe the pretty one that used to be there… oh what was her name…? Mor—"

I didn't think he could hit so hard—fucking hell—I sink to the ground and stare at him, holding my jaw.

Don't piss off a Mahariel.

Theron's standing over me, fists balled with white knuckles, and his arms tight against his sides. He's visibly shaking. I bring my hand up to my jaw and groan. He hits _way_ too hard for an elf. I didn't even see him pull back.

I look over at Zevran and he's completely turned around. Silent. But I can see his shoulders shaking—he's trying so hard not to laugh—I mean I completely deserved that punch but still! My eyes immediately catch back up at Theron. He's stopped shaking and just massages his hand.

"You have a thick head, for a human." He kisses his knuckles and moves back to Zevran's side, slugging him in the shoulder as well.

"Thank you?" I sit up massaging my jaw. I watch the two of them have at each other for a few minutes before I pull myself to my feet and brush myself off then settle back into the truck, locking my fingers together. I bring my hands to my lips, trailing the claws through my beard in an intrigued fashion. The elves finally stop bickering and approach me. I only look through a sullen, and exhausted, glance.

Theron sighs as his eyes wander over me, hands on hips as is his standard position of disappointment. My legs' bouncing, that's probably why he's doing it. Can't help it. I roll my shoulders, wince, then let out a low drone of a sigh. He drags his hand over his face and just makes this _face_.

I giggle.

Yes, _giggle_.

Like a schoolkid.

I cover my mouth but he can see the laugh in my eyes.

"Oh, shut up." He lightly pushes on my shoulder and I just die. I fall back into the seat holding my stomach with a hand over my eyes. The whole truck is shaking from it. That's when Zevran breaks down too. My laughter turns into a chorus of coughs but that only adds to the hilarity of this situation. I pull myself to sit again and I see Theron just looking at the both of us idiots with the same look until he gives in and joins our medley of receding squeaks.

It's good to laugh. Oh Maker, it _feels_ so good to laugh.

Our jovial moment stops after several short minutes only because Zevran almost gets hit by a car, but even at that we're laughing harder. The two lean against the truck and I feel it start to shift.

"Oh, get a room!" I grumble behind my arm as a sneeze escapes. With another intake of air I pull my legs in, somehow I close the door and rest my feet against the side. I stretch in the backseat, my hands hang off the side of the seat, just grazing the weird fake carpet. This truck smells nice though. I slowly lift my unarmored hand up and look at my wrist.

The brand is still as strong as ever… I think this might have been an upgrade. The skin has darkened significantly around where it had been burned, and I flex my fingers. Swallowing, I look towards the pleather seats, feeling more than sorry for myself.

When the elves finally hopped back into the truck, Zevran just has this _look_ in his eyes when he smiles at Theron.

I don't want to know. He'll tell me about it later anyway.

Some foreign music is playing on the radio but no one is speaking. It's a bit unnerving, honestly. There's no real sound from any of us other than my occasional grunt from an odd bump in the road or two—or Theron swerving to not hit a fucking deer. I get thrown to the other side of the cab and just cuss up a storm at him.

"Well put your seatbelt on!" He'd hiss with a glare in the rearview mirror. He's right, but I don't like listening. This time he swerved on purpose.

I punch the headrest and, reluctantly, put my seatbelt.

It's too tight!

Ugh!

I continue to grumble under my breath and Theron ignores me. Theron's driving is terrible at best and he's horrible at following the speed limit.

I slowly card my fingers through my hair and shudder out a breath, my other hand instinctively reaches over my heart—and it's pounding like mad—to at least try and comfort myself. I lean over, bracing myself against my legs.

The elves had agreed that it would be best that Theron went to grab Odin once I'd been arranged a seat on the next ship out of the country. Why I suddenly have to head North is beyond me, but I suppose it's better than nothing…

They're shipping me off to Kirkwall, up in the Free Marches. The Dawn doesn't have any connection up there, because that territory belongs to the Red Iron, a rival guild that is just as dangerous as my former. I've also convinced myself that I'll be safe there.

Perhaps it _is_ for the best, after all.

I fell asleep two more times, and both times one of them woke me back up because I was snoring.

Alright fine, I give up, I won't sleep again.

It's about time we were back within the city limits too, right?

I might as well stay awake for the view, you know?

Gwaren's a nice town.

Not too big, definitely not as big as Denerim, with a mixed populace of humans, Qunari, dwarves, elves, you name it.

It's near the sea too, so you have the harbor with a lot of people coming in and out of the country for their adventures and whatnot.

I remember this place during the Blight—nasty piece of business with everyone crowding onto ships to get as far away from the darkspawn as they could.

I wasn't in the country at the time of the Blight, though, I was in Tevinter with… him…on important business, but regardless, I didn't get to experience the wonders of panic that Theron and his group of Wardens got to.

He told me it was like a nightmare; people so frantic that they'd even look up to an elf in those dark times. I can only imagine the relief he feels once it ended.

We pass a sign that greets us to the city with bright bold letters on a faded background.

 **WELCOME TO GWAREN.**

I start to feel nauseous so I roll down the window and stick my head out. The wind on my face drives away the sense of nausea, but now I'm wide eyed and smiling at the sight of buildings racing to meet us.

The city is old.

Even the smell of the ocean brings about fond memories of varying natures.

None of them send any worried reminders.

This place brings me peace.

And memories of my hunts out here… Yeah… Gwaren is prime hunting grounds for the unfortunate sods on the bad end of a contract.

I visited this town often, mostly due to the large crowds and anonymity it granted to someone of my height and stature.

My dog comes to mind, and the thought of losing one of the few remainders of my old home is terrifying. I pull back into the car and roll up the window when I catch Theron's glare in the rearview mirror.

Danarius had given him to me as a gift when I was younger. It started out as a bribe for my attention, but quickly turned into the best friend I've ever had—not to mention Odin saved me from many a mental breakdown. He'd always be at my side. But these days I couldn't take him out with me as often, per Dan's orders.

But now Dan isn't here, and I _really_ need my dog.

I named him after Theron's old hound, may his soul rest in peace, even though I was originally going to just call him 'dog'.

Anyway—we're at a stoplight near the outskirts of town and Zevran's rambling on about some shops he's seen that the two of them could go to. Theron's sort of ignoring him and grumbling about how there's no time for it and questioning him based on why he was smoking again (I knew he wouldn't be able to get away with it) or whether or not actually getting my dog is a good idea.

It's the safest idea yet, and I highly suggested that he do it unless he wanted me losing my damn mind.

"We need to get you a phone, or something." Theron finally says when the light turns green. I look up from my knees with question.

"I had one."

"We can't have you using that one, it has tracking on it, remember?" Oh, right.

"What do you want, then?"

"Food."

"Other than food."

"More food."

Zevran finally holds his hand up between us and scowls.

"Theron, we all need to eat. Let's stop and eat—seriously. The man's near death," I groan back in my seat and rest my head on my fingers again, "alright?"

The elf finally relents with a sigh.

"Fine. We'll go get food, but he has to stay in the truck," he points back at me, "you're in no condition to be walking about."

I hum enthusiastically and move to adjust my seat when my veins light blue once again. I scream. Theron nearly jumps out of his seat, he accidentally swerved, and I hit my head on the window. More curses spew and Theron's shaking in his seat.

"By the Creators, Hawke. Don't do that."

"I'm sorry, let me just tell the fucking magic sucking runes to _please stop_."

We have stopped. I grip my wrist tightly, hissing at the quick burst of pain before it recedes again. Still going strong, I see.

"We need to get those removed." Zevran says unenthusiastically and puts his feet up on the dash, reclining the chair back with his arms behind his head. He peeks over at me and just smiles.

He looks tired.

They both do.

Theron keeps us going at the speed limit up until we pass by some burger joint.

My stomach roars and I flop over onto my side, another hacking cough breaking through what I thought was the end of it. I feel like that impatient child. Perhaps I am. Perhaps I'm dying. We'll never know!

We stop and I'm left in the truck for a good ten minutes. It's fairly busy here, after all. So I try to take another nap.

I wake up the second the truck door opens.

"Here I thought Shem couldn't get any dumber." Theron settles himself into the passenger seat this time. "Those children they put behind the counter are incompetent fools." Zevran hauls himself into the drivers' seat with a couple of fries in his mouth.

And somehow he's still attractive like that. He tosses a bag back at me

"Yesssss!" I sit up, stuffing my hand within for whatever I got, which turned out to be multiple burgers, (thank you Zevran!). I immediately bite into the sandwich. Crappy fast food never tasted so good!

"Y'know, elf," I start—swallowing the large mouthful I took, my burger's pretty much gone—"You shouldn't bash those kids, these kinds of jobs are meant for those kinds of kids who are still in highschool, remember?"

He flings a fry at me. I catch it and eat it. Zevran shuffles through the center console, looking for something.

"Looks like this guy was really into folk music." He pulls out a CD with a rather pleasant design on it.

He pops the CD in the slot and some weird ritualistic music starts playing.

"This is German." I say, oddly enough, is not as jarring to hear as I thought it would be. It's a soothing melody that we listen to while we munch at our food.

"A very astute observation, Gare."

Or inhale.

"Why thank you."

Because all three (yes, three) of mine are gone and I look back in the bag absently, disappointed first, then crumple it up and toss it at Theron. He flashes those pretty white teeth at me then laughs, his hand rested on the console. The elf looks back at me beneath hooded eyes, and I take his hand, resting against the chair with a half smile.

Zevran gives us a look, then smiles as well.

I like this music. It's soothing.

"Let's get to the docks."

While I do not regret food, my stomach is in knots by the time we actually made it to the docks. We park somewhere, and they're probably going to abandon the truck outside of town or something. I don't even know.

Theron popped out the CD and handed it to me in the case when we finally get out of the truck.

I won't deny a gift, and this music is beautiful, especially with that womans' voice. Besides, stealing music from whoever owned this lovely truck is totally worth it. So I shuffled through the rest of the CD's in console and snagged out a few more.

I hold it to my chest with a sardonic smile. I mouth thanks to him when I keel over with another coughing fit buried into my arm. So far I've had luck enough to not end up coughing up blood.

I've never liked being too near the water, especially in such a crowded place. It bothers me something fierce. I held Theron's hand, like some pitiful child. Though he didn't seem to mind.

These two have done so much for me…

They lead me through the gates, and everything will be taken care of. I catch people staring at our trio; two elves and a worse-for-wear human trying to take passage.

And me being a mage, no less, with my staff leaning against my shoulder out in the open does not help. My smile fades the further into the crowds we get, and more worry rises in its place. I hunch over, squeezing Theron's hand. The racking cough makes it worse to draw attention to myself.

I'm already failing in the whole 'get out of Ferelden without being noticed' deal.

"They say this ship will land in Kirkwall before Christmas."

I look at him funny, and he chuckles.

"Yule."

The thought finally occurs to me.

"Wait… Where will I stay? I don't have any relatives that I know of…"

"Well, there's someone in the city that might be able to get you in, you just have to find him…"

"What's his name?"

"Kennet Barton."

"Zevran, I love you dearly and have nothing but respect for you, but that is by far the stupidest thing you've ever said." Kennet Barton is the Guildmaster of the Red Iron Mercenary company. To go out of my way to ask _him_ to help me out is… suicide.

That is—

"Gare, you know you have no reputation outside of the Dawn, right?"

I…

"I don't?"

"No. Literally nobody knows about you, despite your title and rank with Occasus, you're a nobody. Which will work out great in your favour to gain entrance to his guild. They won't be suspicious of you!" Theron's eyes are alight with excitement.

Apparently he's thought this through.

Violent coughs rack my lungs again and I nearly collapse. I'm getting dizzy, lightheaded. My body decided that now would be the time to ache. I rub my neck and end up leaning against Theron. He pats my back with an aggravated groan.

"You sure I can do it?"

"Of course, Gare."

"Dan said he only promoted me to keep me loyal… What if I'm not—"

"Garrett, shut up, you're a very talented assassin." Theron's voice goes low as we sat down on a bench whilst waiting for Zevran to get more information. "I've never seen anyone take down as many shit-headed nobles as you, and even though you're a mountain of a man, you're stealthy. Believe me, Hawke, you've got what it takes, you weren't promoted for no reason after all."

Gods I want to kiss his stupid face for trying to make me feel better about myself…

"Alright, I'll be back soon, the ship won't be leaving for another hour or two, so Zev will keep you company, and I will be back with your dog. Promise."

He obliges my thoughts and offers a soft peck, and I smile as he leaves. Zevran had appeared out of nowhere and pulled him into a deep kiss, then takes his place and leans against my shoulder, pouting.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want in on our relationship?"

I elbow him playfully, and shake my head.

"While I love both of you dearly, and I actually mean it, I don't think that kind of life is for me. I'm content just being able to have one or both of you crawl under the sheet with me every once in a while. No strings attached."

I stretch out and cross my ankles, an arm around his shoulders.

"It isn't for everyone, so far us being open has really kept our relationship healthy…"

"I'm at least glad you two let me in on it sometimes."

Zevran just laughs and looks up at the sky. "Yeah… You're good company, and in bed, so it's a win-win for us both."

We sit together in silence for a while, watching the passersby with growing interest.

"You know… Theron's been meaning to go to Kirkwall for some time."

Taken a bit by surprise, I raise a brow in question.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, one of our recruits decided to go AWOL and we've been trying to find him. It's been a while, so we're not sure he's even still around."

"Well, since I'm gonna be out that way, can you give me a name?"

"I…er… don't remember his name. All I remember is that he is an aggravating man with blond hair and had an obsession with his damn cat… uh… Andrew or something… I'll remember it eventually, but!" Zevran nuzzles my shoulder.

 _Fucking hell, that's adorable._

"No point in worrying about it now, all we need to do is get you safe and sound."

It's been an hour, and I was worried I'd miss the ship, or I'd miss Theron coming back to see me off again…

Standing in line to board the ship, and my coughing getting a bit worse as I stand there in the cold, I just want to lie down and go to sleep.

Zevran's with me, or rather, he's standing there, but he's chatting up some attractive young woman in the next line over.

I'm ten seconds from going into a daydream-like state when I hear barking, then shouting. My heart jumps, and I look up to see a huge mass of fur running towards me, with a frantic elf running after it.

"ODIN!" As I kneel, my pup runs right into me, knocking me over and licking my face. He whines and wiggles his bum as I pet him and hug him.

"My puppy…!" I look up to see Theron, breathless, and doubled over on his knees.

"Theron, thank you so much." Odin settles almost immediately as I stand, and I grab up his leash. The obedient hound sits at my feet, panting and smiling.

"Ah… Not a problem… I was able to snatch up a few of your things from your house, but I… thought it best if I didn't take too much away. Someone might get suspicious, after all. By the way, you left your wallet at home."

"I… I did? I thought I grabbed it when I went to—"

"Well clearly you grabbed something else, cuz here it is."

And there it is, my Dragon Age wallet, right in his hand. I take it and shove it in my pocket, dipping my head in thanks.

Zevran dips out of line as they finally call for the ship to be boarded.

"Farewell, my handsome friend. We'll speak soon."

I feel the urge of emotions coming on… But I can hold off—I'm going to miss them.

"I'll contact you as soon as I can. Thank you for saving my hide back there, you're the best friends I've had."

"We're the only friends you have." Theron winks and the elves finally wave farewell as I step on board, the faithful Mabari at my side.

"Goodbye you two, I pray that our paths cross again…"

Oh boy…

I look at each soul aboard the ship, and pet Odin's head, and sigh.

This is going to be a long trip…


	6. Kirkwall

Three weeks. It's been three, Makerdamned, weeks. The ship was caught in a bad storm and it took us off course, so we had to reroute and find another way to Kirkwall. I'll say it now, I hate crowds. The ship is full of people, some still trying to make ends meet after the Blight, and some going out for vacation to Kirkwall, which is understandable. I ended up stuck with the refugees; the sick, the weary, the frightened, none of these folk could look each other in the eye, let alone look at me. Not even a day into our voyage, I accidentally stabbed myself with the blade. Therefore, I have a new bloodstain on my trousers. I refused to have a doctor look at it. It is a perfectly wonderful start,

I am no healer, but I do have the basic knowledge for it. I grumble to myself for an hour while people panicked at the sight of my bleeding leg. There are a few other mages on board who offer their assistance instead, which I begrudgingly allow. The ships' captains voice echoes over the intercom, wishing us all a Blessed Holiday.

It is a blessed holiday for those who actually _have_ families to fall back on. I don't. I take another pull of my cigarette, that had somehow survived getting rained on, and look around. People were already coughing, sick with a cold, but the anxiety of being surrounded by so many people had me think twice about when I'd use it. Some man, who looked a few years older than me, stood before me, barking at me for how rude it was to smoke in such a crowded space—so I blow smoke in his face.

He starts yelling. I stand up, towering over him, with an acidic glare to match.

"Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?" I growl.

This man sure has balls. He points and jabs at me, continuing with his berating tone.

"This ship is full of people sickly and otherwise—you should _know_ better than to smoke in a tight place-!" Keep rambling, buddy, I really enjoy it.

I sneer at him, adjusting my staff against my shoulder with a soft _crack_ of my neck.

"You really want to do this? That's the only one I had and it went fast—so kindly sod off." He shoves me against the wall. The crowded space starts to open up a bit. I _want_ to slug him. Whatever energy I had fails the second I hit the wall and slide back down. I'm already exhausted. I let out a huff and the guy freaking _kicks_ me.

I'm about to protest, and maybe throw a punch, when a guard brushes past us. He moves the other guy off in another direction, telling us to break it up, then turns to me and tells me not to smoke anymore or they'll let me off at a different stop. I grumble an apology and sink back into my coat, hacking up a lung into the fabric. Breathing's getting harder, and I think my fevers' getting worse. The conditions of this ship are below par at best. I just want to get out of here.

People are still staring at me. It's not comforting. _Please just stop looking at me_.

I want to say, but there's no strength left in me so I tuck into myself and fall asleep.

Someone wakes me up. I don't know who, my vision is blurry, all I can see is a vague figure. The help me to my feet and I hear them mention that we've finally docked.

It is two days after Christmas and there is no cheer on this ship. Grumbles followed by excited squeaks as family members greet family members. I, however, disembark and immediately get through the crowds, as soon as I can. I'm having even worse trouble breathing than I did before I went on this damned voyage.

I groan internally, rubbing my stomach, and then my head. A headache is all I need. The building in front is where crowds of people gathered to greet their familiars or otherwise.

I have no form of identification other than my name. Everything I own is back in Gwaren. Or _was._

Of course registration asks.

"Name? Age?" and various other questions.

And I respond aptly, and without coughing on the poor woman.

"Garrett Malcolm Hawke. I'm…" I have to think for a second, "26?" It shouldn't have been a question, but it was. I answer the remaining questions with little hesitation.

"Welcome to Kirkwall, Mr. Hawke."

Mister? Lady, of everything I am, a mister I am not. That is my father and his father before him. I shrug and wave at the greeting anyway with a muddled _thank you_ in its place. She points me over to another place where refugees are supposed to fill out forms. I don't want my name back in the system—that'll only make it easier to track me…

However I _do_ need to get in this city as fast as I can. I stumble over, tripped by some gangly teen with his legs spread out in front of him, and I'm barely able to catch myself with a forced click of my "claws" against the table. It startled the large woman behind the desk. She tips her glasses down and just gives me a look.

 _Don't sass me, woman_. I bite my tongue before I even utter a word and just hand her the slip I was given. She takes it and ignores me for a few minutes before she gives it back and waves me on, pointing out the door. I hobble away as fast as I can without the ideal of eyes trailing on me.

Once outside I take a look around. The city is bigger than I thought. Most of the entrances are barred off from the public, though that doesn't seem to stop tourists from trying to get in through to see whatever forbidden arts are behind it. The guards don't care much for it. I see two folk get taken away in the next minute.

I come to find out this place is called "The Gallows", a sort of gateway into the city. So I'll have to take another damn ship to get into the real deal. I can see it off to the far shore. A silhouette of skyscrapers and lights hangs just below a foggy horizon. It's almost romantic. This part of the city is lacking in the Christmas cheer. Let's be honest, it's a pretty dismal place to come to on your first day in Kirkwall.

 _Home…_

I already miss my home. Short lived as the moment is, I look up at the concrete walls surrounding this part of the city. Ahead of me stands Kirkwall's Chantry; an obscenely large building that i _was_ /i in fact decorated with all sorts of shining lights and emblems of the holiday season. It looks more like a prison than a place of worship, but I suppose it matters to those who worship the Maker. They decked it up pretty nicely.

I lean against a building, steadied, and just stare off into the fog. An exhausted sigh escapes and I card my fingers through the rats' nest that I call hair. It seemed too long for me to linger in this spot as a cop passes me by and just glares at me.

I absently ignore him before I decided to get moving. It's easy to say I am relieved I hadn't been arrested for carrying a staff. Much less one with a blade attached to the bottom. I use it as a walking stick, as much as I hate the sound of the tip pinging against the cobblestone roadway. Magic was not so highly tolerated back in Denerim _or_ Gwaren.

I found myself caught in the rush of people pushing their way through the gates and onto the next ferry bound for Kirkwall. I would have panicked, or been trampled—either one would have been a horrible experience in my first day in this super weird city—but a firm hand yanks me out of the crowd and pulls me off to the side. I see flashing lights, and a black uniformed woman standing right in front of me.

 _Now_ I panic.

 _Cops_

I rip myself out of her grip and wheel back, running into a building with my chest already heaving and my staff in front of me in defense. She holds her hands up in ease, an officer behind her has his hand on his weapon, but she talks him down pretty quick without dismissing her gaze.

She's calm and collected. That's admirable, I'll admit, but it still scares the piss out of me.

The officer is shorter than I am, but as I look at her it is painfully obvious she makes up for her size with the sheer aura of intimidation, she has these bright green eyes that have this look of semi-permanent disappointment. She has a red braided circlet wrapped around her ginger head. Freckles too. I look her over once, then twice before her hands slowly return to her sides.

"Drop your weapon." She says with authority harsh in her tone.

My guard is still high, but I relent and I lower my staff. In my time under Danarius, I have learned to never pull your weapon on a cop, but this woman's expression and aura are saying _I'm not going to hurt you,_ and _, put your weapon down or I'll do some real damage to you._

Can we not send the confused giant mixed signals, please?

"What have you got in your coat there?" She asks, motioning towards the square shape in my jacket. I immediately look around, confused, and pull out the CD case that Zevran gave to me.

"CD?" I ask. She takes it from me and opens it, eyeing the contents warily before returning it to me. I put it away when she sighs. Is she relieved about something?

"Are you alright?" She surveys me, which feels more like she's judging me. "Got yourself in a bad way? You look horrible." Now I have familiar-strangers judging me. Great. Perfect even.

"I'm fine." I snap. _I swear I know this woman._ But I don't say anything towards it.

She, however, does.

"Have we met before? You look familiar" _Shit._ She just looks at me with intense confusion at first. Then I move my hair out of my face, because my hair is getting in my eyes and I can't see for shit. Her eyes go straight to the scar across the bridge of my nose. I can automatically tell whenever someone looks at it.

It's the staring that really starts to bother me. Fairly certain her partner is just as creeped out by someone of my current stature looming over her with a confused look on his face. I'm actually starting to get creeped out (and anxious) with how hard she stares at me.

"…"

There's a longer, far more awkward moment of silence to which she folds up her arms and tilts her head. She's thinking. I don't move. I know better than to move suddenly around cops. Some people decide to stop and snap pictures and are immediately dismissed by the other officers.

Nothing like getting a snapshot of a disheveled man being detained by the local law enforcement. The perfect first memory of Kirkwall!

"I remember you—from Lothering, before the Blight." _Double shit._ She points at me with a fist on her hip and a smirk on her lips. She snaps her fingers again and makes a half-assed attempt to point at me. "Hawke wasn't it?" my breathing halts.

Her accent is Ferelden, like mine.

"I remember you—quite well actually." _Triple shit._ She finally backs up, touching her chin in thought. This is not going where I want it to, I'm already breathing harder than I should and I'm no doubt giving them a distrustful glare, I'm firmly backed against the brick wall. "I arrested you—twice in fact." Oh, so _that's_ why she looks so familiar. Great. A cop who knows me. Just what I needed.

"What brings you to Kirkwall?" Now I remember her. Her name's Aveline Vallen. And yes, she did in fact clap me in irons twice when Lothering still stood. It was not a good couple of months for me. Those are a few months I'd like to forget. Danarius was not happy with me when I was released from jail—and it really sucked. In lieu of my time in, she was actually pretty cool to talk to—at least after I was let out the second time and I _promised_ her I'd go straight. Which was a total lie but I didn't let her in on that.

"My business is my own." I say, I lower my gaze and I inch away to the corner of the building, watching her eyes follow me even after I manage to pull away a short scuffle of a distance.

Aveline immediately grabs my arm, effectively halting my movement.

"Not so fast, Hawke." I don't look at her.

"If you've come here to start trouble again, it will not be pleasant for you. I have no problem throwing you in jail again." I hold my hands up rather quickly (and unfortunately dropping my staff) in defense and shake my head.

"Trouble is the last thing I need. You can see my condition, right? You're not blind." I sneer. I immediately look over my shoulder at the docks. The ship has abandoned port, so there's no turning back now. I shouldn't be acting like this. I can't be arrested again.

I just can't.

The officer just sighs and shakes her head, putting her hands firmly on her hips. She makes the same disappointed sound as a mother does. I swear. It's a wonder she doesn't have any kids. There's a tickle in my throat. I immediately double over and fall victim to another coughing fit. I drop to my knees and violently shake. She's next to me, a hand on my back. I push her back with a snarl.

"I don't need your help, Aveline!" I snap. I nearly choke on my own throat, which I hastily grab hold of with my armored hand (it did not help at all). I feel like I'm going to throw up. The criticism in her glare is enough to get me to stop, briefly, and return an equally angry glare back.

"I did not come here—" I choke again when I stand, burying myself into my sleeve, "to be lectured by _you_. Hell, I didn't even expect to _find_ you here. I came here to get away like everyone else."

Her interest is piqued and she won't let me go. I'm growing more and more panicked (I should be agitated, but I'm more scared than anything) and I can feel my pulse pick up the pace again. I clench my fists, shaking. I look over her shoulder at the other cops, but they're occupied with tourists asking questions.

"That's a quaint story." Fuck. "Last I saw you, you said you had it good with your boyfriend and had no worries left over from the Blight."

 _Boyfriend_.

Oh Maker, the word absolutely _stings_. My knuckles go white and my breathing decides to shallow. She struck a nerve.

I need an excuse to be here?

Hey, Aveline, I lied. My "boyfriend" wants me dead and has people out for me back home so I'm currently running for my life and that's why I'm here?

Right, like she'd believe me. The worrying thing is she i _would_ /i believe me and there would be a massive investigation onto my personal life that could dig me an even earlier grave.

She waves me off and turns back to her comrades.

"Everyone came through customs correctly, right?"

"Yes, ma'am." One responds.

"Good. See to it that these people get through safely."

The two men nod and head off through the crowd, weaving through like it was nothing.

However, they left me alone with Aveline. This is not working in my favor. I glance around in hopes for an escape route but there are none to be found. Instead, Aveline motions for me to follow her.

How quaint. I'm going to be shepherded about by the law? Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Well, it's not like I have anything better to do. I walk next to her along the sidewalk, her gaze caught between me and the dissolving wave of people.

 _Maybe I can convince her to let me go. She can't be that strong-minded, can she?_

"So." I start, catching her attention with brief eye contact. I crack a smile, but the look in her eyes gives me reason to pause, hesitate, then regret trying to start up a conversation to begin with. In the brief second she's distracted, I try and pull at her mind.

There's a barrier in her mind. I can't get through. I have to try.

Once again her attention is grabbed by her comrade calling to her, shouting some nonsense. I try again with no luck.

What I need is something to distract her for longer…

 _Hmm…_

Her companion looks dim-witted enough. We've stopped and she's talking to him. I mutter a single spell under my breath and immediately feel the pull. The brunet officer stops talking almost instantly with the blankest of blank stares.

"Donnic?" Aveline seems worried. Good. He started sputtering, blinking rapidly.

I make a single motion, something easily disguised as scratching the back of my head for instance, and Donnic is off running.

"Donnic!" She shouts, jolting forward then looking at me quickly.

"Stay there!" Off she flies after him.

I wait there for a moment, smirk, and book it down the street, completely ignoring the searing pain racing up my legs.

Luck has not been on my side. I've managed to evade Aveline and her crew, but unfortunately the ferry to the inner city is late.

By an hour.

Revelers for the festivities have stood outside this damned station for far too long with their cheerful songs, crying out to the heavens with praises and joyful joyfuls.

It's irritating. They are so freaking _loud_.

Thankfully, though, people did leave me alone.

I'm sicker than a mabari stricken with the taint. I'm beaten and bruised and I've been hacking up a lung for the past I don't even know how long. I'm surprised I haven't passed out yet—or died. Dying would be much worse. Actually, having a panic attack in the middle of a busy yard would be much worse. And that's what happens!

I don't have Theron or Zevran near to help me. I huddle alone on a bench and hum to myself, hunched over with my fingers aching against the fabric of my jacket. It's a simple lullaby. One my parents had always sung to me—the memories sting, but the melody helps with my nerves.

I hum again and again, shutting my eyes tight and burying my face into my hands. I finally calm down enough to level my breathing. It's so hard to believe that I'm here; that I'm not in Ferelden anymore. I've spent my entire life in Ferelden, granted more than half of it being at Danarius's side, but still. I miss everything and…

I'm scared.

I'm truly scared for what will happen to me. I've scarcely been out of Dan's care, or even away from his side with no hope of going back, while I always had independence. I always counted on him to have my back. My heart aches to be back there. But I can't go back. Not if I value my life. I do.

I look up to the sky.

It's clear out.

It's the afternoon, and it's not freezing even though there's snow all around. The wind picks up and carries wisps of snow up and about, twisting them like they're dancing. Each flake glitters beautifully in the light… and that brings about a smile to my tired face.

Perhaps it won't be so bad.

While fear still holds my heart captive, I'm finally free.

~.

Folks are not too pleased with me being around. The outbursts of small children shouting out how horrible I smell does not help that matter. Self-conscious mode activates. I catch sight of myself in a reflection. I'm absolutely mortifying. I'm disgusting. I haven't bathed in Maker-knows-how-long. These brats shouting out that they don't like how I look and smell does not help! Make it stop!

I audibly growl when another child screams out—and their parents do not appreciate that. They hide behind their parents the second I turn towards them.

"Keep your brats silent." I snarl.

People move away from me as if I'm plagued with some kind of disease. I may as well be, considering the decreasing intervals with which I break down into a coughing fit. I dry heaved twice and ended up collapsed against the wall until the ferry _finally_ arrives. To which I get my ass on there as fast as I can.

I stay away from everyone. I don't look at anyone, I don't listen to anyone. I just want to get there, and find a new place to call home… I'm on top deck, mostly because people kept me from going down into the hull with them.

 _Sick stay up here, away from the healthy_. They had said.

Bastards.

I lean against the open railing and sigh into the chilled air, letting the breeze tug through my matted hair. It's refreshing.

Up ahead I can see the city's main port. Huge ships are docked. Mostly for cargo from what I can see. Beautiful ships. But that's not what catches my interest. Even as I look over towards the city, I can see people moving along the docks, into the city, along the bridges. It's… Magnificent. In the distance the mountain range is still visible, and that's blessing enough for me to press on with determination wrought in my heart. The city is covered in a thin layer of snow, which only adds to the whole 'grand city in winter' aesthetic.

It's working. I'm stunned by how pretty it is. It's not often I'm able to admire such beautiful things. For long periods of time, that is.

The ferry takes fifteen minutes to dock at port again. Everyone disembarks.

The city is magnificent up close. I pause short of main-street and just gawk to the heavens. From down here you can't even see the tops of the skyscrapers. The entire city just fills with holiday cheer, there are strands of lights linking lamp posts, wreaths, baubles and, as I actually start moving along, there's a great tree in the middle of a large intersection. This city is far more along with the growing societal standards than I'd have thought. However my basic knowledge of the city flutters through my mind like a lazy butterfly.

This is Kirkwall, the City of Chains, a city that used to be ripe with slavery. That is no longer the case and I'm sure the vast majority of folk are perfectly content with it being this way.

I certainly am.

My attention is redirected to the bustle of people across the road. All bundled up in their coats with bags upon bags on their arms or in buggies. Children follow their parents like obedient pups and I see several teenage couples holding hands and laughing together. I shoulder my staff uneasily and readjust a loose strap on my gauntlet. The hum of the city already has me on edge. While I'm glad to finally be here, the sheer size of the buildings is rather intimidating. Nonetheless, I'm eager to explore. I crack my wrists and knuckles, and make my way down the street.

I see other mages with staves of all different sorts, wisps of magic flutter down and around their arms from the tops, dancing around—flighty. One of them has a rare-looking staff, made of onyx and some other dark wood. I followed that particular group for a good couple of blocks before I turn down another road—I can't be considered a creep by too many people in one day, and I don't want the cops knowing where I am right now.

Along the sidewalk I find an abandoned black glove that goes halfway up the forearm. It's sort of fingerless, with only up to the first knuckle cut off. There are three stones sewn into the back of the arm, and two upon the knuckles. I've never seen anything like this in stores before, but it's warm, so I take it. I will wear it proudly. I flex my fingers in the new glove and nod to myself. It's perfect.

I have no idea where I am. I've settled in an alleyway a few blocks away from a tavern—have been for about a week—and I've made good use of my heat spells but my wounds need tending to and my health is not improving. If anything, I've gotten worse. I've keeled over twice, and have taken to absently turning my ring about on my finger with worry of whether or not I'll survive the next few hours.

I can't lose this ring.

I've been attacked twice by thuggish teenagers thinking that they could get some coin out of me, but I was able to stay them off. I've sustained more new cuts and bruises than I'd like but it's a sign of my victory. My jacket is in tatters and there linger the constant feeling like the bitter fingers of death are culling me over and over every single night. I'm starving. I haven't eaten properly since I came here. The odd scraps I find discarded are not enough. I've truly become just another helpless wretch on the streets.

People have tossed an odd coin in my direction, taking pity on the large bedraggled man on the streets. It's disgusting. I don't thank them; hell, I don't even look at them, except maybe when they haphazardly throw it at my head. From this "charity" I have acquired enough coin to buy myself a coffee—if I could get up.

I would like a coffee.

Alas, I can't even move. My legs have fallen victim to the numbing sensation that is sitting on a frozen fucking sidewalk for hours on end. I close my eyes and concentrate on getting some rest. I have to. My fingers are tight against my ring as the emblem faces me once again.

 _"_ _But, Dan, this was my fathers' ring! Give it back!" I reach out to him, sixteen year old me; a gangly teenager who looked almost too thin for his age with sparse facial hair and unruly long black locks tied back in a ponytail, grabbing at the ring in his fingers. He holds me back with his other arm._

 _He didn't say anything in protest to my grabs; he just held it far behind his back, and taunted me with a smile._

 _"_ _Give it back!" In truth, I'm smiling too, begging him with delighted laughter. He'd already taken my dog tags, which I thought was a joke but it was not. Now he took my ring. But he is teasing me!_

 _"_ _Does your father know you have it?" He chuckles and I pull back._

 _"_ _No! But that's not the point! It's mine now! I_ earned _it!" We dance about in my vain attempts to snatch the ring back._

 _"_ _Oh, Garrett," His words kept me on edge. But he soon started laughing again and wraps his arm around me and looked at me with the same adoring smile. I smiled back up at him, my eyes bright with wonder as he slipped the ring back on my finger. "What do you say?"_

 _"_ _Thank you, Dan." I rest my hands on his chest with a smile and he kisses my forehead._

 _"_ _You're welcome, my pet."_

The moon has risen when I wake up. I remain in the alleyway, chest heaving and still curled up against the wall with my sustained heat spell being the only thing keeping me sane and warm. Snow falls in soft flecks along the paved roadway, shining under the lamplights. It'd be a romantic night. I watched people pass by, hand-in-hand, giggling between their twosomes.

It leaves a hole in my heart, and frankly, I miss _him_. I miss being cuddled up to, being told that I was good for warmth; I wrap my arms around myself and tuck in again, shuddering a breath. I can't keep reminding myself of him. It's not healthy. What's done is done. And he's not a part of my life now…

Stop thinking about him! Just stop! You're not supposed to be emotional! You're not supposed to-

My back pressed to the brick wall and my staff tucked below my form, I huddle there, shivering, sniffing at a running nose and wiping away watering eyes, my hand firmly over my mouth. No, I'm _not_ crying.

 _I'm not crying._

There's a cough in the direction of the street. I look up through glassed over eyes and what I see starts my heart up in a beat that I haven't felt in a while.

He's an elf.

True, I've seen plenty of them pass by the alley without so much as a glance but this one—I stare at him after I caught a flash of white hair amidst his shadowed person, and he looked my way—well I suppose he was actually looking down the alley as all sane folk did.

I couldn't get a good look at him even when I flop over onto my side and stare listlessly past the opening of the alley. He's stopped in the lamplight, checking something, his phone perhaps, and tapping the toe of his boots against the sidewalk, kicking away loose snow. He casts another glance my way again, his eyes glow an eerie color in the dark. It has become clear that I need to swallow my pride, no really; I should have done this a _long_ freaking time ago. I wouldn't be in such a horrible position if I had!

To the Void with my pride, I'm going to die!

I've been sitting here for hours, but I'm freaking exhausted both mentally and physically, and it's just about early morning, and I mean it's still pitch black out but I can sort of see the sun rising, when the elf passes by again in the opposite direction. I watch him for a moment, and it's at this time that I've actually managed to stand. He stops near a sign with phone in hand. He's talking to someone. Or yelling. Arguing? I can't tell but he doesn't sound happy. His voice though, deep, surprisingly so for one of his size. I step up from behind him and clear my throat, or something.

"E-excuse me. C-can you-?" My throat is so dry so it's more of a croak when I speak, but the elf is tense and whirls around almost instantaneously as I reach out to touch his shoulder. I didn't see it in his hand. A shock racks through my body and I convulse then collapse in a heap at his feet. I hear something buzzing above me then stops as it drops to the sidewalk. I hear the person on the other end of the conversation shout ' _what did you do?!'_ when the elf shouts a quick _oh shit_.

"I just tazed a hobo."

Why is it always dark?

I realise that something is over my eyes. I would have panicked. I _should_ have panicked, but nothing reacts. I feel unusually calm. The air around me smells sterilized. Clean. There are the sounds of people around, crying, talking, and shouting. Desperation hangs in the air. _Okay, time to go_. My mind screams for me to get up and run, but my body does not respond. Now, something, or someone, is next to me—hovering over me. A hand firmly presses against my side.

 _Alright, no touching_!

I let out an audible growl and the hand shoots back so fast that its owner topples backwards and lands with an _oof_. The sound of grumbling is greeted by a snort of laughter from elsewhere.

I'm left alone for a few minutes, probably to wait for me to calm down or something, but it's only making me more anxious. This is not working. I need to leave. _Let me go!_ I honestly hope that- there's a tingling sensation running all throughout my body. It's the tingling of magic and someone is hovering over me again. Their hands hover only inches over my body, sweeping back and forth, and with each pass and the sensations of warmth grow stronger and stronger. It's highly welcomed warmth.

I grunt again, but this time the hands do not shy back. They remain where they are, concentrated over my more major wounds.

I haven't been captured- that's relief enough on my behalf, but I don't want to stay here any longer. If this guy thinks he can keep me locked down by spells, he has another thing coming.

There's a violent pressure against my chest and I swear to the Maker and His Bride if I could move I'd have _strangled_ this person. My legs twitch in a vain effort of me trying to kick them. I feel my muscles tense and I manage to make a fist.

"Oh, calm down," a flighty voice responds. "I'm not going to hurt you."

There's a tight pull of energy down my center, then a relapse. His fingers are flighty over my skin and it tickles beyond belief. I do not like this situation. The pull of magic is strong where his hands linger, and soon he's at my wrists, which is probably the most painful spot as of yet.

He holds my wrists in hand, roughly, and turns them over. His breath hitches and his grip tightens. I let out a hiss at it.

"He's been branded?" a gruff voice perks up from somewhere nearby, footsteps making it obvious that he's moving closer. The other man lifts my other wrist.

"Multiple times, it seems." The lighter voice says, "You can see where the markings overlap and where they've been settled against his veins." He slid his finger along my wrist as he explained.

"I thought only slaves were branded."

"They usually are."

The gruff voice lets out a groan, and rushed footsteps announce his departure.

"Goodbye to you too." The lighter voiced man is left with me, grumbling still. There's a pulling sensation at the brands, which actually brings out a pained groan, I hear his breath hitch, and it doesn't resume until I'm calm again.

"Let's try get rid of these…" he grumbles to himself. There's a jolt, the smell of burned flesh, and a hiss and he pulls away. "No luck…"

"Time to wake you up then…"

The tingling sensation returns and arcs up through my veins, converging at my chest before splaying out through my entire body. The first thing I do in recoil is to lash out. I make contact with something hard. By the way it felt; it was his jaw. I tear away the cloth over my eyes and blink away the blurriness. This man is on the floor, massaging his face. My hand is on fire.

 _Maker it hurts_.

"Nice arm." He groans and returns to the chair that's beside me. I sit up quickly, wincing at the building knot in my gut, but sitting up all the same. I look around, ignoring this man for the moment.

There's no doubt about it. I'm in a clinic. Not one of those fancy, expensive hospitals that they have in the big city, but one that's well-worn and almost has the aura of a well-loved place.

Even though being in a clinic or hospital in general terrifies me. I look down at my arm. There's an IV and I'm strapped to some kind of machine.

It then comes to my attention that this man is watching me. My brow furrows and I just stare at him. Speaking is not going to happen. I refuse to talk to him.

He asks me another question, which is promptly ignored as I rip the cords out of my arm and hand, hissing at the tears and hearing the doctor… nurse… person, whatever the hell he is, yell in protest.

I ignore him and try to get up. A massive strain runs through my spine and I cry out and flop back onto my side, clutching my stomach and curl into myself.

The man that I punched pushed me back into the hospice bed and gives me the "doctoral" overlook.

"If you keep doing this we're going to have to restrain you again. Just calm down and you'll be fine—"

"I don't want to be in here!" I shout. He flinches back, looking almost surprised.

I can barely see and I swear I'm seeing double of everything. I force myself to sit back up again and he's still next to me with a look in his eyes.

"What?" I snap.

"I need to check your eyes."

A brow is raised in question. No flinching? No arguing back? Man, I had him pegged for a coward.

"To see if there's any coronary damage." He sighs. I open my mouth to protest but instead shut it and allow him to do his checkup. I can't always be ungrateful for people assisting me but I tense when he reaches into his pocket. Relief when he pulls out a small light. Aside from being temporarily blinded by said bright light, I'm feeling better than I was before.

My immediate reaction is to blink when the bright light near blinds me while he checks.

"See? You're fine."

He pats my shoulder. I want to strangle this man so badly- but he… Saved me, didn't he?

I wince at another shock through my body. _Oh, Maker, the pain! Augh! Make it stop!_ I look at him- and the bastard is smiling at me.

 _Don't mock me!_

The longer I stare, the more agitated I get.

I started to sway and his hand is on my back, holding me up, his other is checking the new tears from me ripping out those damn needles… My jaw twitches and I ball a fist again.

"Stop. Touching. Me." I actually yank his wrist away and hold it in a near death-grip. He does that scared sound i _ah-ah/i_ thing and tries to pull back. But I don't let go. Not yet. Not until he pulls on his own arm. Then I let him go, and I watch him fall back into the machine. He's wide eyed and hissing at his new back pain.

I scowl.

That is, until an ungodly painful prickling sensation lingers around my wrists. I sit there, stunned and wide eyed, gritting my teeth against the jolts that rush through my body. My brands shimmer in an uneasy light.

"The fuck did you do to my markings?" I clench my jaw, massaging the sore spots. The doctor holds his hands up and rapidly dismisses any wrongdoings.

"No, no, no, I swear I didn't try to empower them I promise you! I tried to neutralize them!" He smiles again, uncertainly. Okay, he really needs to stop smiling. It's creepy.

"You're not helping your case, _mage._ " I quickly scan him over, having not really paid any mind to his appearance.

He's in that awkward white coat that doctors wear, and he has a badge with his name clipped onto his pocket. I look at it. _Anders Fjalt_. His hair is messy, blond too, tied back in a messy bun (which would have been completely appealing had I not wanted to strangle him). He has a thin face and a look of over-exhaustion held within his brown eyes. He has a thin, almost bird-like nose.

The doctor finally moves away with his back to me. I watch him, warily.

"You were in pretty rough shape when the elf brought you here. Those brands are sapping your energy _and_ your mana pool." He says, fixing his coat.

I roll my eyes. _Tell me something I don't know._

"I know someone who can help you, though. Someone who has knowledge of how to remove runes like these."

Oh?

"His name's Malcolm. He's an old friend of mine, and my father-in-law, actually." I pause in my thoughts.

"I always thought people had surnames to follow." I smirk.

"Hawke." He nods, rather proudly, I pause in both breathing and thinking. "But anyway, he's really good with magic, see, he's one of the top surgeons in the city, and there's no doubt that he can't fix those brands for you." He has his hand on the bar next to me, supporting himself while he leans over.

 _So the clan is in Kirkwall now? Great._ I roll my eyes and look away towards the rooms' door. _They're all here._

I sigh.

"Uh, hello?" I am snapped back to attention with a hand waving in my face. I look down over the other side of the bed, and realize there's nothing holding me back from leaving.

"No." I reject his suggestion with a bitter taste in my mouth.

"No?" He's surprised. "Don't you _want_ to be able to cast your spells to their fullest power?"

Ignoring him is easy, getting out of bed is not. I swing my feet over the side and push myself away from this _Anders_ with less than half a thought.

He sputters to get me back in bed but I absolutely will not stay here any longer. After a moment he relaxes and sits back in his chair. I suppose he's observing.

The second I put all my weight on my feet. The very split second. I collapse to my knees. Why am I so dizzy!?

"Makers' balls!" I curse. He's next to me, helping me to my feet and settling my down on the bedside again.

"At least wait until the anesthetics wear off." He shakes his head with an exasperated smile. His hand is on my shoulder and I look at him. I grumble under my breath and just—I can't be horrible to him. He helped me.

"I-…" I swallow and nervously rub the back of my neck. "I'm sorry."

Anders's smile doesn't fade and he nods.

"I understand the fear of being in a strange place, with strange people. Don't worry, friend. You're in safe hands."

I suppose I can trust him.

So many scars.

I leaned back in the bed against the wall, tracing my fingers along each scar on my arm. The scarring is most prominent near my wrists for obvious reasons. Several of which were cut in line with my veins. I shudder a breath when I trail back up to my bicep. There's one running the length of my arm. _A painful reminder to never disobey._ Dan had inflicted this upon me when I just turned twenty for refusing a "gift". The scarring disperses as it climbs up higher past my tattoos.

I have a lot of tattoos, especially on my left arm. I was originally planning on getting a full sleeve, but one thing lead one thing to another and I gave up on ever being confident enough to reveal my arms in public. So far I have a tattoo in the similar to that of a heroic figure from a video game I used to play when I was a kid. I don't remember what it was called ( _Dragon Era_ or something along those lines) but I was so obsessed with it that when I turned 18, Dan paid for me to get it. (It's literally just a few thick lines of red of some rune that the hero carves into himself to save his ass in a battle.)

Once I was able to make enough coin, Dan took me to get some work on my shoulder and my left pec. I wanted tribal designs, but after much convincing, I decided to go along with a heavily detailed dragon that looked like it was made out of some kind of liquid material while it formed. Its tail wraps just around my upper bicep and sometimes it moves when I flex. This tattoo is by far my favorite one, only because—well, _dragons_ , I still think it is pretty badass.

My hand stops at the tip of the dragons' tail and I sigh. Everything I've ever done has always fallen back to him. It's like there's no escaping his existence. I had no real experiences of _living._

Not before I turned sixteen. Before I knew he existed. Before I left to chase _him_.

…I miss him…

Anders had left me to myself while he went to get food for me, and I decided to take a nap. I've not felt at ease in a long time. But the nap is short lived when he comes back. I can't smile, but I nod and don't actually try to rip his arms off again.

The blond settled into the chair next to my bed while I eat and he asks,

"What is your name?"

I swallow the mouthful and breathe.

"Hawke." I take another bite of this sandwich. It's really freaking good.

"Can I get a surname to follow that?" he leans to the side, my eyes follow him.

"No." I scowl.

"How about I call you Birdie?"

"You can call me Hawke. That's it."

"Alright, alright, Hawke it is." He pauses. "I was told that you've been on the streets for some time?"

"That would be correct." My response is immediate and I look down at my knees. I have no real use in lying to him right now. So why bother?

"I hope you're okay with a bit of hospitality. A friend of mine is willing to board you while you find your way in the city."

I look up. Just like that?

"Just like that? She's willing to board a h- someone like me? Just like that? What's the catch?" Something's up and I don't like it one bit.

"What's her name?" I lean forward.

"Aveline." I fall back against the bed and drawl out a groan.

"I take it you've met her." He chuckles.

"We have history." I run my hand over my face.

"Then you won't mind?"

"Of course I fucking mind, fool!" I snap and sit up again, knocking my cup over onto myself.

"Well, you can't stay here, and you can't go back to the streets so…" He rolls his eyes thoughtfully, too comfortable around me. I don't like that. Unfortunately I don't really have a choice. If I'm to get away from… him… then I need to make a new life for myself in this city.

"Fine. I accept." I look at my hands again. Aveline at least knows me… Well, knows a little about me. It's probably going to bite me in the arse with this agreement but it's better than nothing and I don't think I'll be able to survive another week on the streets.

I turn the ring about on my finger, looking Anders in the eyes.

"She'll be coming to retrieve me then, I am right to assume, yes?"

Anders had eyed my ring and dog tags with growing interest after I showed them to him. He didn't say anything, except an odd _hm_ when I put the tags back on. He seemed more suspicious of me than he was when I first… I guess when I first arrived in his clinic? I still have no idea how I came to be here, but that doesn't matter anymore.

I'm feeling better and I don't hurt as much as before. So he eventually decided that it would be smart to give me my staff back, which he had confiscated and kept in his office.

Therefore, now I'm here and dressed (mostly) and I guess I just have to wait for Aveline to show up. They gave me my gauntlet back after an exchange of unkind words and empty threats. The waiting room is packed with poor folk waiting. I can see why he's so busy.

However, I don't understand why he didn't upgrade to a bigger building. Too expensive maybe? I don't know how this economy works, but judging from the crowds, he's doing well for himself. I'd offered to pay him with the small amount of coin I had, but he refused it, saying that I could just repay him when I got back on my feet.

Here's to hoping I remember. I roll my eyes and sigh into my hands.

People are staring. I clench my jaw and breathe slowly. I keep my head in my hands. Maker, get these people to look elsewhere. Most of them aren't looking at me, but tell that to my anxiety.

Anders is next to me for the moment, we talk back and forth about health. What I can and can't do for a few weeks or so. I twist the ring while we talk and I can see it catch his gaze more times than not.

"Fancy ring you got there." He says with a raised brow, completely stopping his lecture on mental health. The suspicion is high in his voice. I tense up and stop twisting my ring.

"Yeah?" I look down at it, hiding a smirk. "What about it?"

"It just seems fancy for someone of your… financial situation."

That raises some questions. "Well excuse me." I sit up straight, clawed fingers tapping against the metal of my weapon. "I don't think the owner of a clinic is allowed to question someone's financial means."

He straightens up but doesn't respond and instead he turns away and struts to the door just as the ginger officer walks through.

 _Oh, Aveline, why so many disappointed frowns?_

"Thank you for calling me, Anders." She says to him as he lightly pats her shoulder, he leans over to her ear and mutters something that throws her glance my way with a quirked brow. The exchange is almost awkward to view.

"He's willing to go with you so there shouldn't be too many problems."

She motions to me and I stand up, fixing my staff to my back. At any rate, I'm going to finally be able to see more of the city. And finally have somewhere to rest.

"Come on, Hawke." Aveline sounds tired. I move past her and she follows me out. Of course the second I see her car is when I actually panic. I halt in my steps, with her bumping into me from behind.

"Calm down, I'm not arresting you."

 _Could've fooled me_.

She shepherds me through the doors and down the steps.

It's still daylight. I think it is about noon. Outside is a crummy place. This must be the ghetto. I sigh inwardly and push my way past her. There are a few ragtag groups of folk lingering outside, some of which move off to the side as we pass by. I catch few words in between the murmurs but other than that, they're ignored.

Aveline leads me to the car and I'm allowed in the front seat, which is more relief on my nerves. I set my staff carefully in the back seat and buckle up. She looks at me again and nods slowly, examining me.

She starts the car and we're off into the better parts of the city.

This city is beautiful. I don't even know what day it is, but Christmas decorations are still up and active, people are still enjoying the snow, and everything looks peaceful. I hum again, tapping my clawed finger against the grip of my staff.

"So." I start, my lips quirking up into a grin.

"Home already? We haven't even gone on a date yet." I snicker and bang my head against the window when the car makes a sharp turn. _Ow._

Her jaw tightens and she groans.

"Look, Hawke, I know you—I know what you're capable of. And you're not safe on the streets. No one is safe with you on the streets."

"No one is safe—What—Aveline, I stole a car! Twice! I didn't kill anyone!" I look at her quickly, confused.

She smiles, lightly tapping on the steering wheel and humming along to the song on the radio.

"I'm only teasing you, Hawke." Your teasing leaves much to be desired, Aveline.

"So where does that leave us?"

"I'm taking you back to my flat. You're going to stay with me."

"Really?" eyebrows raised. I nervously laugh again. "You truly want to have a 'criminal' in your flat?" Air quotes are essential to preserve 'innocence'.

"I'm doing it to keep an eye on you, Hawke, not just because you have history with the law." The authority in her voice makes me laugh even harder. "I thought Anders went over this with you."

"He didn't say much other than that you're taking me to your flat. Are you sure that that won't cause problems in your line of work?"

"I'm straight-forward enough to know the rights and wrongs of the law. I don't have to worry about you trying to seduce me to the dark side."

I chuckle but try to disguise it as a cough. The outside looks more inviting that staring at Aveline the entire trip, so I let my mind drift away to small daydreams.

Aveline drives like an old woman; an old woman who turns too sharply and cusses at other drivers from her seat. I'm scared for my life, and I have a firm grip on the _oh shit_ bar. She doesn't even go the speed limit most of the time and it's driving me crazy. Just drive the Makerdamned speed limit, woman!

Whatever high I was on at that point had worn off and I go mute, only replying to her questions with grunts or nothing at all. I roll my shoulder uneasily, occasionally looking at my blood dragon tattoo, watching it move with my muscles. I can't smile. I don't want to smile, but I am on the inside.

Some colorful song plays on the radio, "Cool Kids" no idea who it's by but it's enough of a bubbly song that I can get lost in the scenery with it as background noise. The buildings move by quickly while we traverse the city. I don't recall which part of the city I was hanging around in, but I pay attention at each intersection to where we go.

The buildings appear to have a more modern and worn down look about them. Elves become the more prominent residents the further we go. There's a couple of Qunari here and there but they're far and few, which is far more than I saw in Denerim. Dwarves and humans seem to outnumber these lots the longer I stare.

"We're heading into Lowtown." Aveline says, turning to me while we're stopped.

I jitter a little in my seat. My leg bounces, rubbing against the seat, and I can barely stifle an exhausted breath. I've resigned myself to this fate. I might as well calm down…

 **Defensive mode activate.**

I can only give her an occasional sideways glance and nervously tug at the tags that hang on my neck.

We're here. The apartment complex is quite nice, all things considered. Aveline pulls into a parking space and I look up at the high-rising building. We step out.

Staff in hand, I move ahead of her towards the building. The door is locked, obviously, but I still try to open it. Aveline clears her throat. I step aside and she unlocks it.

Now we can go in. She moves before I do. I hesitate, swallowing at another lump in my throat before she drags me in.

"First things first." We walk up three flights of steps before we come to her door. Her neighbors are being rather noisy next door but the officer ignores it, and she unlocks her door.

Inside this room is by far one of the cleanest rooms I've ever seen. It smells really good too. Like cinnamon.

I look around, taking it in. I'm actually somewhere warm and forgiving.

"First things first," she says again, "You need to shower. I will not have you looking like you're fresh off the streets while you live with me."

I give her a look but she points past my face when I take off my boots. "Bathrooms' down that way." My gaze follows her hand down the hall. It's dark but I can make out the door.

I grunt in response.

"There's a towel in the closet." She tells me what to do, and I let her. She pushes me in that direction. I let her.

The bathroom is clean—so clean that it's almost scary. It must be brand new or something.

"Guest room is to your right." She calls from the kitchen. "Make yourself at home."

I close the door and look at myself in the mirror. I still look like shit. But it could be worse.

Stripping down is easy once you get past the minor aches and pains and bandages sticking to your skin and hair.

It feels like a rage demon is licking my back just from the waters' heat alone.

A good half hour or so and I'm finally clean.

What a relief.

Luckily the hallway is empty and the TV is going so Aveline is probably watching TV. I scurry past into the guest room and close that door behind me.

So far I have no clothes to change into and I'm in an unknown household.

The room is empty. There's a bed, dresser, closet, and a few other necessities for a bedroom. I set my staff against the side of the dresser and nod. The bed is rather comfortable once I sit, but I don't linger for long when I pull my jeans on.

 _I think I'll go commando_. Yeah, that sounds fun.

I wrap a towel around my upper half, being the kind of person who doesn't want all his scars out for viewing. I step back out into the living room and lean against the wall, looking the tired officer over. She's dressed down. Off duty, I suppose.

"We need to get you some new clothes." She states, raising a brow.

"Obviously."

"I'll take you out. We need to get you presentable too."

"Again, obviously. Do you have a shirt I can borrow?"

She's uncomfortable for a second, shifting in her seat.

"Yes." She stands, she moves to her room. I follow.

However I don't linger for long in the doorway when she pushes me back out with a white t-shirt with some obscure logo on the chest thrust into my arms.

I raise a brow to her but don't question the size. It looks like it'll fit me. Once I put it on, it does. It's a bit loose around the torso but I'd prefer this.

"You don't look like someone who wears men's clothes for fun, Aveline." I look past he into the room, then stretch and pulls back to the front door.

"Are you married, or?"

She pushes past me to the door.

"That is none of your business."

 _Alright, fine. Don't tell me_.

Her phone buzzes from the counter. She goes over to it, opens the message, and shakes her head.

"Several of my friends are going to be up at the mall in an hour once Isabela gets out of work, since we're going that way I think we might as well meet up with them."

She won't let me answer, but I'd readily reject the offer. I only want new clothes. She hands me a jacket, again being a questionable size.

"Don't bring your staff. You won't need it." She warns as I put it on.

"Any particular reason why not?" The sleeves are a struggle without pulling on these damn bandages.

"You don't need it." She repeats.

"Alright." I hold my hands up. "Your house, your rules." I can't cast spells anyway so there's no problem with that.

Suspicion is high in her eyes. But she nods all the same and heads through the door. A longing glance cast back to the guest room and I follow her out, skipping on my heel and kicking at the toe of my boot and follow her down the stairs.

I guess this won't be so bad after all.


	7. Merry Meetings

What bothered me wasn't that I was in an officer's off duty vehicle; it was a peaceful ride, and I was allowed to stare blankly out the window—at least I tried to. It was the fact that she had the absolute _worst_ taste in music that I had ever heard.

Old time, scratchy polka music crackling out of a less-than-stellar stereo system. It was the last thing I wanted to hear.

 _What could be worse than this?_ Aveline singing along, missing every note by a hairs breadth of an inch and tapping her nails against the _freaking_ steering wheel. Had it been someone in tune, it might have been remotely amusing, but this was just annoying.

Many attempts were made, all in vain, to ignore the sounds coming from my left. I eventually give up and resort to staring out the window, watching the lower city pass by in a slow mixture of color. The trip eventually blurs into a single reel of me staring, with a rather bored expression, at people when the car was stopped at a light… I don't think many people appreciate being nonchalantly flipped off, but I was already bored as it was, and I genuinely did not care. Aveline grumbled to me several times to knock it off, and after the third or fourth time, I stopped and resumed a blank stare.

The drive was uneventful, but my admiration for the architectural beauty kept increasing for every few blocks we pass with newer, bigger, more artistic building designs. Sure they are just skyscrapers. Just looking up at the lingering holiday décor, the slightly iced-over windows, and even the constant streams of people going in and out of shopping outlets was calming.

"Where is this mall supposed to be?" I rest my chin on crooked fingers, a sigh heaving its way free.

"Hightown." she grinned, turning down the music. "It's the biggest one in the city. It only opened recently, but there are so many nice stores there." She paused, "Do you have any coin on you?"

"I mean—" I think for a second. I do have a bank account, one that was completely separate from the one Dan and I shared previously for my own use.

I suppose I had _something_ in it.

"Probably. I don't exactly have a wallet or any ID on my person right now but—I think I might have some in the bank."

"Which Bank?"

I tell her then ask if there is one nearby and she readily nods with her response being that there was one in upper Hightown.

"I'll need to get everything fixed up, cancel some cards." I made a noise of disgust and pressed my fingers to my temples. This is going to be a headache. Sharing information with strange folk is always a bad idea, but Aveline is helping me, so the least I can do is get something to her.

"We'll stop there on our way and you can get your money."

True to her word, she pulled in to the lot and I stepped out, fussing over my hair before I headed inside.

It was sort of busy, several people in the queue waiting for their teller. I lumbered over to the podium where the slips were and decidedly filled one out. If I could recall correctly, I should still have a decent sum left. I was planning on getting a new place in Gwaren, but since I'm here I'm very sure that the nice houses are more costly.

A large sum totals up and I nodded to myself. I was not planning on buying more than a handful of articles, but anyway, I stand in the queue with the paper pressed against my chest.

After a couple minutes of waiting I was at the window, get eyed up by the clerk as I hand her the slip with the ridiculous amount, and get an envelope with the money in it. I ask her, briefly, about who to contact for lost or stolen cards and she points off into the corner of the room where there were more people waiting for an appointment. I think I'll pass on that today. I thanked her and hurried back outside.

Aveline reclined back in her chair, straightened up when I climbed back in, quickly checking the envelope then folding it and stuffing it in my pocket. She's judging me? Her head snaps forward as I glance at her.

"I know it's none of my business but—"

"You're right; it _is_ none of your business." A deadpan stare is all she gets from me. She returns with a scowl and a shake of her head.

She checks her mirrors and looks either way before we leave the lot. A suffocating silence hangs between us and I clear my throat.

"I-I'm, ah, I'm sorry." Staring out the window is better than looking at her right now. "I do have a bit saved up—I was going to rent a newer apartment back in Ferelden—so I have a decent amount left but I—" Words escape me so I end up mumbling on with an excuse and an apology.

From the corner of my eye, Aveline has a little quirk of a grin on, shaking her head following a snicker.

"Don't worry about it, Hawke." A sudden tap on my shoulder and my head snaps to her. "It's good that you have some sort of stability."

 _Gee, thanks._

Hightown is unbelievably fancy. Gated off high-rises, mansions, however else wealthy people live in the big city, but _Maker_ these buildings made me feel small just driving by them. The residents of these _royal_ buildings all seemed snooty; they had fancy cars, fancy houses, and hell, even fancy _dogs_.

Yet, there was something about all this that had me laughing on the inside. All these people hid behind their gates, oblivious to the worries of other folk; at least that's what I get out of it. Maybe there are a few people who care enough—I mean there are probably doctors, lawyers (Maker forbid), decent politicians and _maybe_ a certain famous author or two hiding up there. Aveline told me that several of her friends actually lived up that way, one of which belonged to a noble family that recently rose back up into the limelight.

Along the drive, Aveline regales many tales of her friends and the shenanigans they used to get up to—apparently before two of them got married and ended up with kids, she never mentioned who it was but the way she looked at me had me wonder.

My mind was not all there as the sight of a huge, and I mean _huge,_ outlet mall comes into view.

"-And so she ended up coming to _my flat_ piss drunk and passed out right there on the floor!"

These stories of this mysterious friend of hers, this Isabela Rivaini, all seemed to involve this woman getting drunk and finding her way over to one of the collective friends flats. As the stories only got worse or more hilarious I did end up cracking a little, smiling and laughing. I point up a ways ahead at a strange structure hanging over the road.

" _That_ would be the Skywalk." Aveline briefed a smile.

"Sweet Maker, this is an outlet mall!? This looks more like a freaking castle!"

"Just wait until you see the _inside_ ," says she, "Isabela said she'd meet us in the food court in two hours, so we have time to look around."

We make a turn onto the ramp and drive up to the, larger than life, parking garage. Oh Maker are there so many freaking cars, and there's even more people filing in and out of the building. There are three levels to this garage, and we're stopped on the top row. I won't deny that I'm only _slightly_ pinched about heights, but the view is amazing.

Once we get a parking space, a feat that took far too long for comfort, we sit in silence while Aveline picks through her bag, muttering to herself. Meanwhile, I took this opportunity to _not_ freak out, going so far as to hold my hand over my racing heart and forcing myself to breathe evenly with my eyes closed. It did not help much but by the time that I open my eyes, Aveline was at my door, knocking on the window.

"Are you coming?" Her voice is muffled. The lump in my throat won't go down easily—and there's growing tension in my body. My shoulders are stiff and I'm rigid in my seat, nervously wringing my hands with a pained expression when I turn and look at her. With my heart still jackhammering into my chest, I push open the door and step out into the brisk January chill. Aveline's glance is a worried one, but I ignore it and take in a deep breath.

"Alright," I groan, "let's go."

Maker, this place is huge! It really _was_ like a freaking palace, the interior alone and pure aesthetic of pompous upper-class shopping centers had me gawking at its beauty.

I caught myself twisting my head around every which-way, taking in every sight that I could in the present space—at least until Aveline grabbed my arm and carted me away out of other folks' paths. Laughter bubbled in my chest and there was a brief warming feeling within my chest. I looked at Aveline and my hand instinctively wraps around her wrist, just holding on as we walked together.

She spoke on about her friends; good things, bad things, entertaining things, things that both catch and lose my attention. I have only seen her smile several times since I've met her, otherwise she had the police scowl plastered to her mug. She smiled when she talked about her friends—how good they've been.

I envy her.

Her voice was the only one I really wanted to hear right now, despite current events, I feel safer to be with her than I would if I had been on my own. Several times I find myself stopped and staring at the architecture, other times I catch myself looking at people passing by—rather attractive folk, I'll say—occasionally Aveline would look too, and my gaze would follow.

"Isabela will be here with the others in an hour," Aveline pockets her phone, "so let's get moving with our shopping."

Fair enough.

Aveline needed new slacks for work, so we headed off towards Macy's. I picked out a pair as well; just something to get me by for the moment. The entire time we're walking through the aisles, the feeling of being watched just sort of hangs over me. I twist my ring more times than I could count and keep close to Aveline's side.

Eventually she got tired of it and dragged me back out into the main building—it didn't help, but her grumbling about me to stop had ceased after. A few moments later she has me over to one of those giant maps that tell you where all the shops are; claiming that if I was going to be staying with her, that she won't have me looking like I just got dragged behind a speeding truck.

She's right, I do, but that's beside the point. She had me looking over the map amidst the crowd, using me to do it because I'm a great deal taller than pretty much all of these other people.

"What's it called?" I ask behind me. She scrunches her face in thought then shrugs.

"It's something Orlesian. So just look for something unbelievably _pompous_." I snort and scan over the tiny-letters. _Look for something that is not common, something that I can pick out._

I found it a few moments later and pull back from the growing crowd of new-comers. Aveline isn't where she originally was; instead she's wandered off a short distance, scanning over shop names nearby.

"This way, Hawke." She grabs my wrist and drags me along. The very second I see those bright pink-on-black words, my heels dig into the ground and I stumble to a halt.

" _Victoria's Secret?_ Aveline, have you gone mental? I'm _not_ going in there!" I break free of her grip and cross my arms. There are many stores that I'm willing to go in, but that _one_ place in particular is strictly off-limits for me.

"What? It's just underclothes. Why in blazes not?"

"I just don't want to smell like a woman coming out! That's all!"

Here come the hands on her hips, cocked to the side.

" _Really_?" There's challenge in her eyes. "Don't tell me your masculinity is on the line."

I gape at her, mouth a few soundless words, but shake my head all the same.

She walks in, turns on her heel, and stares at me. It's turned into a contest of who can pout more until she shouts at me.

"Hawke! Get over your manhood and get your arse in here!"

Wandering eyes linger on me but I'm caught glaring back at the fiery red-head who had her arms crossed. I make a disgusted noise and, with my head lowered and burning cheeks, I stalk over to her side.

"I _hate_ you." I growled. She smirks with her minor victory and heads further into the store.

The inside of the store is just so pungent; reeking of all sorts of mixed perfumes and teen moms. I stare, momentarily, and the mannequin dressed like an angel with frilly black lingerie decorating it.

 _Maker, help me._ I'm completely out of my element, and I do everything to not make eye contact with _anyone_ in the store other than Aveline. I failed in doing this twice now and hunch over even further.

"Oh, grow up." Aveline chides behind a lacy bra, tossing it down and moving on to other articles when I shove my hands into my coat pockets.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not comfortable here." I speak in a harsh whisper, curling my lip in disgust and have my jacket in a death grip, tugged around me. I don't even want to be here anymore. After some time, she finally decided to buy some—but I'd ditched out of the store when she turned her back.

So I wait for her to return, and she does so with a grin.

My cheeks still burn. _Damn it all, Aveline!_

I ditched Aveline.

She'll be pissed at me when and if she finds me. Honestly, if she dragged me into another one of those damn stores I would probably have set it on fire, _if only I could_. It was just easier to duck and run.

Current objectives include getting a couple new sets of clothes and finding that Orlesian salon. The salon was a couple of doorways down from the Macy's and the line could not have been any longer.

Okay, it totally could have been longer.

Luckily I got in a good spot in the queue… and I immediately regretted being by myself in an unfamiliar place. Peeking at my brands was the first mistake I made in public, panic swells in my chest the very moment the feeling of eyes bore down on me. It's hidden away almost as quickly as I brought them to view.

 _They're stable; in stasis, but still active. Why haven't they gone off at all?_

I spoke too soon. There's a violent jolt sent through my arms and I bite back the scream, biting down and effectively numbing my tongue for those few minutes. The shuddering doesn't last too long, but people back away from me like I have a disease.

More wealthy snobs whisper among themselves behind and in front of me. _Maker, don't you people have anything better to do?_

Clearly not, that's why they're in a queue as well.

Line moves quickly, and I now I'm waiting even longer for someone to get un-busy to "help" me. I tug, absently, at my bangs and push them out of my face, scowling at a mirrored reflection of myself.

I look horrible, I feel horrible, and now I have the worst case of pins-and-needles in my freaking arms.

Finally it's my turn and the hairdresser had a quick look of surprise but I manage to crack a smile as I sit.

So brief conversations happen while she's fixing up my horrible hair and beard (combo) and there was minor banter.

She commented that my eyes were pretty. I looked back at her when she paused to get a spray bottle, and dead on said the same in response. She _did_ have pretty blue eyes after all.

I'm done, and I don't look like a savage anymore. Once I get up I stretch and smile at the girl, and once my heart calmed down, I headed to pay.

Extra tip, just because.

Where to next? I kick into a trot and zip through the crowds, scanning over each name of each store with growing intrigue, and annoyance. I have not really shopped on my own in such a long time—I always had to get either permission, or I had to be by— _ugh_. The feeling is fleeting, but it's there.

 _Freedom._

Finally I have the chance to explore without worrying about having someone tell me _no, you can't have that_. I don't know what my limits are, but I'm eager to find out.

I head up the stairs with a bit of pep in my step and my mind set on getting new clothes. The mall has three stories on one side, and two once you get past the skywalk

The next couple of stores that I visit leave me with more articles of clothes; jeans, t-shirts, a couple under armour shirts, several flannels, socks, underclothes, a new pair of Doc Martens, you know—necessities. Bought and paid for, I make my way across the skywalk, the moving floor acting like a speed boost to my movement. I feel like I should get changed into something nice—but that can wait.

Around the corner of the walkway I found a rather "edgy" looking store and wandered on in. Heavy rock music blasts through the speakers—a good sound. I take my time browsing through the articles and eventually find a pair of black skinny-no-so-skinny-jeans, collecting a few other articles and head back into a changing room.

The jeans fit. And _damn_ does my ass look good in them. Changing back into my well-loved jeans, and pulling on one of my newer long-sleeved shirts, I head back out to look at some new coats. There was one in particular that catches my eye. It's hanging up high on the hangers and it looks _awesome_.

It's a full-length trench coat, an off dark blue-grey color, long sleeved with a nicely patterned flair to the chest and where the zipper is up top and a well-placed split up the lower fabrics. I reach up and pull it down, decidedly that I want to try it on. I shrug off my jacket and pull this new one on.

It's really comfortable. There's room for me to move in it, and I don't feel constricted, if anything, I feel like a total badass wearing it. I fix up the hood and look at it. I want it. So I shall have it.

Taking it off, I fold it up along with the skinny jeans, head to the jewelry stand and grab a pair of earrings—yes I do wear earrings, simple small hoops—and head over to the check out.

After fumbling for my cash, and grabbing for a new wallet with a " _Dragon Era_ " Logo on the front, the exchange is made and I feel better about myself for the moment.

Moments after I trundle out of the store with bags in hand, I head off towards a bathroom. I want to change.

It's surprisingly abandoned for the moment, so I take the largest stall and change in a hurry. Pulling on my new coat, I head out and look at the mirrors, my hand on my jaw and I look side to side with a smile.

"Nice."

I fix my coat and head back out. More people crowd through the building. My grip can't get any tighter than it already is so I hold my breath and push through people. All signs point up to the food court so I follow towards the stairs and head up to the third floor.

The scents of delicious food caught me—I follow with a growing hunger.

I stop momentarily to drink in the sights on the floors below me; the elevators, the escalators, the large decorated pool at the center of the building with a statue spewing water from its mouth. There's an orb dancing on top of a torrent of water, spinning it all over. My attention is once again grabbed by the smells of delicious food so I pull away.

It's crowded, so I linger outside for a moment to calm my racing heart. I swallow at the lump in my throat and head in. Aveline shouldn't be too hard to find right? From what I've seen, there weren't too many red-heads out and about right now.

A mane of fiery red hair catches my attention off in a far corner, and judging by how she's sitting; she's pissed. A rumble of laughter sticks in my throat but I silently weave through the tables towards them.

A woman on the other side of the table looks up at me, and gives me a seductive look.

Then I'm behind Aveline, dropping my bags and resting my hands on either side of her shoulders. She whips around, standing, pushing the chair back and pointedly jabbing at my chest. Scolding me for leaving, but I hold my hands up in defeat and give the weakest of laughs.

"I came back, be happy that I didn't bolt." She looks me over with a scowl still plastered to her lips.

"Well, at least you're here…" Again her green gaze wanders over me. "You clean up nicely." She turns to the three at the table and sighs, waving over to me with a shake of her head.

"I'll say." The dark-skinned woman says.

"Everyone, this is Hawke." Aveline motioned for me to sit, but I stood rigid, nonplussed and red.

The woman on the other end stands up and is in front of me almost immediately; she's curvy, dark skinned (probably Rivaini, if I guessed by her fashion sense) with even darker curls spilling over her shoulders from beneath a blue bandana, her ears decorated with expensive looking earrings and a collection of golden necklaces hanging down into her… cleavage. She has quite a good taste in clothes—most of which hug her body. I won't lie; I looked her over for a moment when she smiled at me.

"N-nice labret." I stutter.

"Oh so _you're_ the trouble-maker!" She giggles. She has a warm voice, one that sent a shiver down my spine. Immediately, the woman's caramel eyes linger from me to Aveline, and back to me. Her smile widens. "Here I thought Big Girl was out of the dating game."

 _Big girl?_

Aveline choked on her drink and slammed her hand down.

"I, ah, no, we're, ah," how does one form words? "not t-together." I stammer over myself, suddenly feeling more out of place than before. I look over the other woman and catch the glint of metal amidst her outfit. She has daggers with her—so that makes her a rogue. Gotta be careful around that one. There's a snort of laughter from a rather handsome dwarf behind this woman.

" _Isabela._ " Aveline growls. "He's just staying with me for the time being until we can get him his own place."

"Such denial, Aveline." Isabela tuts.

Again there's a brief greeting but I mutter instead, nervously rubbing the back of my neck.

"Isabela Rivaini." Isabela curtsies and bows, rather dramatically might I add, then twirls on her heel and plops back in her seat with an arm thrown over the dwarf next to her.

He looks oddly familiar—I swear I'd seen his face somewhere…

It's strange seeing a dwarf without a beard, but as he shifts in his seat, I immediately see that it was made up by a glorious display of chest hair, making me a little insecure about my own chest hair game. There's an awkward silence for a moment, then he laughs.

"The chest hair seems to entrance even the newest of strangers." _Oh Maker, he noticed._

He has a crossbow rested in his lap and now a straw twirled between his fingers following a smirk.

"Varric Tethras, at your service." I swallow and immediately sit down next to Aveline.

It takes only a moment for my brain to click.

"Wait. _The_ Varric Tethras? The same Varric who wrote the _Hard in Hightown_ series?"

"The very same." His voice is like honey, smooth and sweet. "You a fan?"

Inside I'm fighting back the urge to gush over how much I actually _loved_ that series. Still do. It's one of my favorite reads—but I'm an adult, I'm in public, I'm trying to hold up a façade, and I'm talking to one of my favorite authors—so I can only manage a few words in response.

"I, ah, yes!" He leans on his elbows with the smirk lingering and a flash in his eyes.

Maker, have mercy, I'm embarrassing myself.

He looks as if he's about to say something when I look over to Isabela's right and there's a little elven woman looking at me with bright green eyes and grinning.

"Oh wow!" She chimes. She has an accent, a Dalish accent. "You're so much bigger than Aveline described!" She's a fairly petite thing, pale skinned with a rather simplistic vallaslin on her face, _Falon'Din_ if I'm not mistaken. Soft features, a slightly angled jaw, innocent expression, bright hazel eyes, dark hair covered in little braids and she seemed to be comfortable wearing a bright green scarf against her deeper green tunic and earthy brown arm warmers. She had a staff resting against the wall at her side, a traditional First's staff.

"I'm Merrill!" She purrs.

" _Andaran Atish'an_." I say to her, nodding. The elf perks up and gives a white smile.

"You speak Elvish?" Her voice is so little, meek, it suits her.

"A little," I shrug, slotting my fingers together to rest my chin on them.

There's brief banter between the little elven woman and I until Varric interrupts with a few questions of his own.

"So, Hawke, what's your story?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your story; you know the whole 'where you're from or why Aveline said that you were picked up off the street half-dead' spiel?" My heart stops and an acidic glare _slowly_ crawls to Aveline.

 _Really? You told them about that? More snooping._

I rolled my shoulders uneasily and cleared my throat. What exactly should I tell them? I can't tell them the truth… What should I do? What would I-? _Spin a story_. The idea hits me like a flash of lightning and I lean back.

"There's not much to tell, really." I'm uneasy with speaking this much—there was no permission given first so now I catch myself looking around as if I'll be punished for speaking out of turn at any second—the anxiety of such thoughts keeps me on edge, and their eyes are all locked onto me, all of which have hopefully not noticed my fidgeting.

"I traveled a lot—lived in Ferelden for the past… What was it, four years, on my own?" I do indeed spin a small tale of what I used to do; Photography, which wasn't a total lie—I did have a major in fine arts back in my college days and did do some photography and painting on days that I had nothing to do—but nonetheless I tell them several little details about my life that wasn't totally wracked by or even close to mentioning being a part of a gang-related underground society as a merciless serial killer.

Varric interrupted several times to get me to explain a bit further on some aspects, but I only answered with terms that I wanted to give. He actually brought a tablet out halfway through this "story" and started tapping out details.

"Well, why are you _here_ and why were you-?"

"I got lost in the Brecilian forest, got mugged by some bandits and lost pretty much all of my gear, ended up getting sick afterwards and I thought Kirkwall would be a new experience."

"So that's how you ended up on the streets, half dead?" He's intrigued and I shrug.

"I mean—I was on the streets because I couldn't get access to a bank, I've never been in this city before so it's not like I knew the layout of it or anything." _In truth, I've been to Kirkwall all of three times, but all those times were explicitly for political meetings with Danarius._ "I couldn't find a doctor during that time either, so I just kept getting worse and—"

Aveline makes to interrupt but I shoot her a look. "Like I said, I never knew the layout of the city and during the time I was without a shelter, people avoided me like the plague so I couldn't ask anyone for help."

The story concludes after that, with my blatant refusal to get into any more detail on my past. Isabela taps away at her phone after I stopped talking.

Eventually the topic dropped from me to what everyone did over the holiday week. Aveline was working, Varric was away on a book-signing tour, Merrill stayed at home, and Isabela claimed that she had crazy sex the entire weekend, and eventually this whole thing bubbled down to New Years' Eve where there was a huge party at their good friends' family mansion and they all got drunk and had a good time.

I'm quite frankly, a little jealous. I think back to what I did—regarding that I was stuck on a ship and homeless for that week or so.

Isabela made a rather filthy joke and laughter followed. Aveline tried to hide it but I saw her shoulders shaking. I didn't find it funny. My stomach growled and I look over at the food stalls, eying them warily. I want to go and get food—but I just… I can't do that.

Not by myself.

Considering that I've been feeling less affected by my anxiety than I thought—at least up until now which had been a surprise. The fact that I hadn't actually had a mental breakdown while I was on my own both pleased and worried me but it finally reared its ugly head and my heart thuds into my chest—but my stomach demands food. Once again I start twisting my ring, breathing slowly.

I catch Merrill looking at me with a worried quirk of her thin brows. There's a rattled breath and a choked sound but the others are caught up in their own meals and drinks.

The table is fascinating, let's say that, because I wouldn't look back up at any of them or ask if they would come up with me. So I let my gaze trail down to the tiled tabletops until there's a shadow to my right. I look over and Merrill is there, smiling at me.

"Want to come get food with me, Hawke?" _Thank the Maker._

I swallow again and nod, slowly getting up with a tingling pair of arms. Her thin fingers gently wrap around my wrist and she pulls me along towards the place I'd been eying for a bit.

"Th-Thank you Merrill…" I mutter, blushing.

"It's alright Hawke; I know what it's like to be nervous. In a place where everyone is a stranger, sometimes you need a friend." She tilts her head and gives a little smile. We order something together and I pay for her meal, out of thanks. My nervous habit of twisting the ring on my finger returns while our food is being made up, and she looks at my hands.

 _A friend?_

"That's a lovely ring you have, Hawke." A compliment, but I don't think she's seen the emblem. Would she be interested in seeing an old heirloom? She takes my hand and turns it so the emblem faces her and her eyes shine.

"Ooh! I know someone who has a ring _just_ like this one!" There goes my cool.

"Y-You do?"

"Mhm! Our friend Marian has one just like it! Where did you get yours?" She's still looking at it but I gently bring my hand out of her grasp as the tray is handed up.

"A friend of mine gave it to me." I lie. Just like that. It's the impulsive reflex.

I see it in her eyes too, feel it in her aura, and notice the soft wisps that dance around her.

 _She's like me too; different, but there's not an ounce of evil in those eyes of hers—just pure naivety and innocence._

When we get back to the table, Isabela is still tapping away at her phone and getting texts back just as quickly. Is this a tournament or something? The corner of her lips curl upwards and she finally cheers, standing up with her hands high over her head.

"Mary said she can come!" She beams; plopping back into her seat like it was nothing. I slowly returned to my seat and she looks over at me.

"Oh, Hawke, you're invited too, if you want to join us!"

"Invited to…?" I take a huge bite of my burger.

"Every Friday we have a get-together at the Hanged Man in Lowtown," she explained, "and this is the first time in, what—months, that Mary's been able to get a break from her brood." She cackles.

"Her _brood_?" I choked, forcing myself to drink. "Wait," play it cool, Garrett, you can do this, "is this the same Mary that you mentioned, Merrill?"

"Mhm!"

"You, _do_ remember Anders, right, Hawke?" Aveline sips her drink. Well of course I remember that asshole. How could I not? I still have not forgiven him for trying to get the brands off, nor have I forgotten about the offer to get them removed.

"Marian is his wife." _His wife!?_ I've stopped breathing momentarily with the straw sort of halfway in my mouth.

 _Marian's his wife…_ I lean back in my chair and think, absently swirling my cup around. Instead of freaking out, which I'm still doing mentally, I take another long sip.

"She finally got someone to watch those three?" _Three!?_ "You mean Anders couldn't watch them this time?"

"Anders is probably going to be working—but he might join us afterwards." Isabela scrolls through her texts. "Ol' Malcolm's gonna be watching them."

"She's not going to do that thing she did at New Years', is she?" Merrill asks, a sorrowful look taking over her cheerful visage.

"What did she do?" I ask.

"Well, at the end of every year—at least as long as I've known her," Aveline starts, "She goes into something of a depressive state and 'drinks for two'"

"For two?" _What is she talking about?_

"She won't tell us why, even Anders can't get it out of her, but I think the rest of her family knows too—probably just lingering regrets or something. Either way, it's never good to see her like it, but the fact that she's finally coming out with us is a good sign!" Isabela playfully claps Merrill on the back and she squeaks.

"One of the twins might show up, depending on which one is back from University."

So much has changed since then… I'm not surprised, but Mary's hitched and has kids? That's news to me. Guilt piles up in my chest, but I managed to swallow it down with another swig. The chair is on its two back feet and the balance is there while I look up at the ceiling in thought. I run my fingers through my hair and exhale; said breath is followed up by one of them asking me if something was wrong.

I just wave them off with a lame excuse. That's not a lie at least. I'm horrible with crowds and I think in the past half hour there has been a steady increase in the flow of people.

Nerve-wracking is what this place is.

"So are you in or?" Varric lightly tapped on my knee and I jerk back to reality.

"I'll think about it."

The group converses about other things going on in their lives; Merrill telling of the hipster shop that she works at, _The Road Show_ , it's called—and she talks of the new kinds of lizards they have in stock and that the shops pet boa is pregnant.

Isabela mentions her working two jobs, one as a barista at some coffeehouse and another at the docks, _Maker knows what she actually does there_. Varric mentions another book-signing tour and Aveline complains about work. My gaze travels over the crowds, like I'm trying to pinpoint someone in this insanity. It's still a wonder I've held up this well this long in this horribly crowded mall.

Then I see him—back against the wall by the doors with his hands pocketed. I immediately stand and excuse myself from the conversation. Merrill looks confused, as do the rest of the group as I push through the crowd to get to him.

This man is like a haven in this craziness—and I stop in front of him.

He's an older man, proud in stature with dark rings under his eyes, greasy hair tied up under a beanie. He leaned against the wall with a scowl on his face. The second I approach him, he gets defensive.

My hands are open, showing no harm, and I stop a few feet in front of him. Moments pass until he nods for me to approach. I know this man. He used to work for another branch of the Underground with me.

"Kennet." I smirk, grabbing the hand he extends with a sneer. "Look at you."

"Hawke? By Andraste's great flamin' arse, It's good to see you still alive." He looks around warily. "What the hell are you doing here? I heard about what happened—Let me just say, you were lucky you survived. They usually kill prisoners right quick." His voice is low and he leans in toward me, I follow suit but soon lean against the wall next to him, hands in my pockets.

"Yeah… Some shit went down…" I look up towards where the four folk, my "new friends" were sitting. Aveline's staring me down, I look back at Kennet and clear my throat.

"You still with the Iron?" I inquired.

"Of course. You need work?" He doesn't look at me. "I knew there was a reason you came to me. The Red Iron cut ties with your old mans' gang a while back." I scowl at him. I remembered that, they defected just like the Crows did.

"I need work. I just need to be in a place where I can… trust people again. Since your gang cut ties, I need to be able to rely on someone to not throw me back to Dan if shit hits the fan."

He looked up, smiling, following up with a sharp jab into my arm.

"i _Please/i_ , Hawke. We're still trying to get back at him for the last stunt he pulled in Tevinter." He motions for me to follow him outside. I look back at Aveline, who had stood up and looked like she would come over and grab me, but Varric held out a hand, and she sat back down with a reluctant speed. So I turned to Kennet and followed him outside.

We only lingered far enough away for him to light a smoke, taking a seat on the freezing metal bench near the doors. He offers, and I accept. The wind had picked up and made it a lot colder than it had been. Typical January weather I think. I take a drag and listen to him go on about what happened while I was out of commission.

"When we heard that Dan's _pet_ —" I cringe at the word, "had been taken down, we thought it would be the end of him for sure." I exhale through my nose. "We learned of your escape maybe a fortnight ago. After that we had to make sure our sources weren't lying, and sure enough our people spotted you coming in through the Gallows half-dead and suddenly we had new worries. Dan's group is still active, but there's been no word as to what they're going to do now without you. You were one of the best."

"Still am," I corrected. "well, without those girls of mine, I'm about as useful as a novice."

"But you still have magic."

"True. But it's not very effective in long range."

"What about that one spell you used to do, the lightning one?"

I rolled back my sleeve and show him the brand.

"He rebranded me. I can't do much anything magic-wise until I get them removed. Look, Kennet, since I'm here, I figured I'd join your cause." I turn on my heel, wandering a bit away from him before tossing the butt into one of those trashcans.

"Have you, now? I figured that since you're a slave, you'd remain loyal to your master even after-"

"It's already been made clear that Dan no longer desires my company." I fix my coat again, interrupting him. I don't appreciate being called a slave. "I'm good at what I do, and I figure that if anyone's gonna have my skills at their whim, it'll be your boys."

Kennet bares a stained grin with a harsh laugh.

"You know, I like you Hawke, so I'll tell you what," I get a clap on the back, "I'll get it in with Meeran and get a message sent to you asap. Considering that they probably stripped you bare back in Ferelden, I'll take it that you don't have a phone anymore."

"How'd you know?" I sneer. "I'll be living with a 'friend' until I can get other lodging." I tell him the address. He holds out a hand, a gesture common, I take it and we shake on this weird arrangement.

"Excellent!" He brings his hands together, "It's good doing business with you—" He turns on his heels as his phone rings. "And it looks like my time is up, I wish you the best." And he's gone.

I stayed out there for a couple minutes then returned into the building with a lighter mind but immediately regret it when I see Aveline glaring after me.

"What?" I rolled my shoulders as I neared the table. _Please don't question me here, not now._

She doesn't say anything, but I know that I'm going to get chewed out later for both ditching her _and_ doing shady shit in front of her.

The group welcomed me back into the conversation. Apparently, they were talking about this new bartender at the Hanged Man, who Isabela found to be absolutely appealing. I was silent for the most part, only chiming in when asked for an opinion. Isabela thrust her phone in Aveline's face, showing her this new bartender.

"It's Fenris!" She chimed, beaming wildly. "Such a pretty elf, I mean, he's so slim, but he's got these muscles—and these tattoos!" She gushed over this man so much. Then her phone was pushed into my face, and instinctively I jolt back out of surprise. My eyes adjust to the image of this elf and-

He was indeed a pretty elf. White hair dramatically pushed over to one side of his face. He's dark skinned, which contrasted his hair so nicely. And he had these _eyes._ In the picture it was him mixing a drink, he just seemed so _focused_. But those eyes. Forest green, and in the lack of light in the picture, they glowed. White tattoos on his chin, trailing down his throat and splaying out like branches the further they went down… I wondered exactly _how_ far down they went…

I swallowed. Part of me wanted to keep looking at the picture, but just like that it was pulled out of my vision.

"Ooh, Hawke's blushing!" Merrill's accent chimes through the haze in my head.

"Uh-oh, I think someone has a crush." I hadn't even felt my face get as red as it did. _Fuck_. I hide my face in my hands and mutter a _shut up_ in her direction.

"So, you still 'just thinking' about coming to the Hanged Man with us on Friday, kitten?" Isabela's teasing me now. _Oh Maker why._

I give a closed smile and chuckle.

" _Fine_."

Isabela immediately goes back to texting on her phone and tilts her head.

"I think I know him, he's Mary's best friend isn't he?" Varric slots his fingers together in a rather intrigued fashion, leaning forward.

"I think he wanted to be more than her best friend." Merrill chimes. "You saw how he looked at her that one time." She speaks to Varric. "He was at the wedding too, wasn't he? He still gave her that _look_ when she came down the aisle."

"He was the best man." Varric responded, "Anders absolutely hated it, I've never seen so much pent up sexual tension between those two before in my entire life." Smooth laughter follows by a fist to the table.

"So he works at the Hanged Man now? What happened to his teaching career?"

"I think he quit a while ago to go back full-time into a more freeing career, bartending just happens to be his side job."

"Freeing like photography? He's pretty good with a camera." A foot is jabbed into my shin and Isabela is smirking at me. "I think I found a model for him."

Again, my face heated up.

I look back up to the ceiling while they ramble on about who-knows-who and where they met. I found my emotions torn between disdain and hatred for myself even more for being gone for so long…

 _She's married with kids, and I didn't even say goodbye._

After some time, our party came to the unanimous vote to do a bit more shopping together, but I assumed it was because they wanted to get more details out of me.

That was their plan. They succeeded in prying a bit more out of me, but nothing personal.

It was dark by the time our congregation finally disbands with goodbyes, I shook Varric's hand, and a few unwelcomed hugs; Merrill loosely draping her arms around my waist, which wasn't too bad—admittedly, but the very second Isabela came near me, her arms wrapped around my neck and she leaned against me, pulling me against her—only then did my entire body tense. She held me for a moment with almost intimate purpose.

I saw the look in her eyes—and I did not return her embrace and instead tried to, as calmly as possible, pry her body away from mine.

"Don't…" I hiss, " _do_ that."

The drive home ended with my thoughts taking over more than just my speech, so I was silent the entire way. The whole time I was thinking about that elf. What was his name?

Fenris?

Yes, that's it, it's Fenris.

It's… a handsome name.

Feral.

He was handsome.

I just, feel like I've seen him before from somewhere. It's fuzzy but my brain wracks for recollection of those eyes. I've seen them before—

 _Somewhere._

We hit a bump and my thoughts break only momentarily to Aveline's announcement of us arriving back at her flat. After helping her carry things up to her flat, I'm back in my room, putting everything neatly into the dresser. I look through the window to the dying sunlight and find the nighttime city scape to be more than haunting. It's truly magnificent.

As I lay on the bed I just look up at the ceiling with thoughts racing through my mind.

He really was a handsome elf. I kind of… I want to know him. It's a strange feeling, this, but I think I need to get something to take my mind off of Dan. Maybe—Maybe making friends is the answer I need…

 _I wonder._

 _What exactly is this elf like? What kind of person is he?_

An unending cycle of questions curves through my mind for maybe an hour until I lose myself to sleep.

 _Who is he?_


	8. The Red Iron

**Chapter 8: The Red Iron**

"No way," Isabela prodded me with her fork, "so they're both pierced?" We'd been discussing my ears for some reason over breakfast at some diner on Main Street; it's a fairly quiet place, considering how busy it was outside, with a rather homey feel to it; simplistic coloration married to a robust, outdoorsy array of décor. Duncan's I think it was called. We were seated in a booth near the window; just me, Isabela, and Merrill.

"Yep," I start with a sip of piping hot coffee, "twice over."

"Ooh, doubled? Why no earrings then?" she looked at me over a piece of toast.

"They got in the way." I touched my ear, absently looking out the window to the people passing by. "I used to get into fights pretty often, and the last thing I wanted was to have my earlobes ripped open, so I stopped wearing them."

"Why not we go and get you some new ones then?" she paused, "didn't you buy a set two days ago?" A brow raised and she takes a huge mouthful of her eggs and hash.

"They went missing." By missing, I meant that this kleptomaniac pinched them from my freaking bag when I was not looking. She was even _wearing_ them! She probably thought that I wouldn't notice.

Well of course I noticed, _I'm not stupid._

Merrill leaned against my arm, looking at me intently.

"I've never had my ears pierced before. Does it hurt?" Her wide-eyes filled with intrigue. I only snort a response.

"It depends on where you get them done," I say, "and how they get done. Mine didn't hurt because the bastard actually did it right instead of cramming them through like they do at Claire's stores." The little elf fixed herself in her seat, taking another sip of her hot chocolate as a response.

"Never get your piercings done at Claire's."

"Do you have anything else pierced?" Isabela raised a brow again, smirking behind her hand. I had to think about it, turning my gaze up to the ceiling with a tilt of my head. I was sure she was asking about more filthy places, I had learned her sense of humor by the second day I hung out with her.

"Well, I went through a couple phases as a teenager; I had my eyebrow and my tongue pierced for a while-" Isabela's attention snapped to the missing piece of eyebrow but I shook my head, " _that's_ not because the piercing got ripped out."

"Is your tongue still?" Merrill was looking at me, wide eyed and curious. Isabela had also leaned in towards me when I smirked.

"You _really_ want to know?" I took a quick swig of my drink then stuck my tongue out, the sight of the silver ball on the inner curve of my tongue seemed to bring nothing but delight to Isabela, only noted by her sudden Cheshire grin.

And then back it went.

"Just looking at you, no one would have guessed that you were such a _rebel_."

I laughed, _they have NO idea._

"So, do you have anything else of the _rebellious_ nature?" Isabela leaned forward on a crooked wrist, brows raised with a half-hearted smile.

 _Well, I have tattoos but…_

"No. Just piercings," We're not at that level, so they're not allowed to know.

I leaned back in my seat with an arm rested behind Merrill. There's a certain level of comfort between the three of us, it's odd but I could appreciate it.

"We're still on for tomorrow, right?" The waitress slipped the bill Isabela's way but the other didn't avert her eyes from me.

"Despite Aveline being completely against leaving you alone with me?"

"Absolutely."

"Definitely." I smirked.

After we'd finished, paid, and left, the remainder of our get-together ended up with the three of us just wandering around the city for some time, listening to Isabela's wild stories about times when she owned her own ship.

 _Who would have thought? Isabela, a pirate._

If it hadn't been obvious by her mannerisms or constant talk of a 'crew' honestly, you'd have to be an idiot to not notice.

So we wandered with laughter balanced between us like it was something keeping us together, and truth be told it was. I'd have just headed straight back to Aveline's flat had these two not tried to make me laugh. Laughter is a godsend, so I've learned.

We parted on fair terms after a fairly uneventful taxi drive drop-off. Merrill got off first, then myself, and Isabela was left hooting with laughter in the back seat as it drove away.

 _What a strange woman._ I shook my head and turned back to the complex to await Aveline's return. Perhaps she'd give me advice on how to start looking for a job in a city this big.

The past two days had been strange. Aveline and the three friends of hers had all been more than accommodating for a complete stranger, even when they allowed me to join in on their outings.

On Saturday, Aveline dragged me along to some pub with the promise of us being kept out of the crowded sections for my own mentality's sake. Though the day had more or less ended with my own dissatisfaction towards being out for so long. The place was certainly lively, and dark, but thankfully not dark enough to cause any eye shining, well save for Merrill, but elves eyes naturally did that anyway.

It was hard trying to relax when people were constantly coming up to the table to talk to Varric or Isabela and, hell, people even tried to talk to me.

My desire to remain silent did not deter anyone from trying to strike up a conversation with me.

It was a boisterous night and there was no lacking in activity in the pub we'd taken refuge in and, again referring back to the people coming up to talk to Varric, we were given no peace. Varric, with his _smooth_ voice, had made it more than a point to try to coerce people to give us some space.

Unfortunately, people did not seem to understand boundaries and Isabela made it a point on more than one occasion to settle herself in my lap and drape her arms around my neck in many excuses to get creeps from asking her to dance with them. She'd offered to get me to dance on more than one occasion as well.

Polite declinations just ended with her not getting out of my lap despite my telling her to.

The sudden wave of kinship these folk attempted to drown me in was more suffocating than comforting, and it made me desire to seek solace elsewhere more than once. Not that Aveline would let me be by myself for more than ten minutes at a time.

She still didn't trust me.

Well, I didn't trust any of them either so fair was fair.

By Monday, and through some miracle, these three had all but integrated me into their group, again, mostly granted by Aveline constantly dragging me along with her whenever they'd go out in hopes that I'd loosen up a little or something like that. I was fairly certain that it was because she was already sick of seeing me pace around her flat because I had literally nothing else to do when she was not around.

I was still heavily reluctant to actually open up or relax around them—and Merrill occasionally badgering me on what skills I had to offer did not make it any easier to ease up around them—I had no actually told any of them of my magical affiliation, and I aimed to keep it that way. Aveline was the only one who knew and I made her swear up and down she would not breathe a word of it to anyone.

While we were out at the local park for Maker knows why (it's bloody freezing outside and there's snow everywhere), which Varric exclaimed was the perfect place to get more notes for a future book of his, one that I had eagerly asked him about with intent on learning more but he only smiled and said,

"If I told you what it was about, it could spoil the twist." He replied, rubbing his hands together.

He left it at that and as badly as I wanted to ask again, I decided that it would be better that I didn't. We spoke among our group with friendly and snarky banter, most of which was aimed between Isabela and Aveline, until plans had been made up for Aveline's birthday.

And yes, Isabela did in fact jokingly suggest male strippers, and no, Aveline did not approve of it in the slightest.

 _Well, I thought it was an entertaining idea._

Excitement died down after that and in the end we agreed to head over to Aveline's flat for some more entertainment.

If it could be called that.

It was the five of us scattered about in her living room either on the couches or the floor, watching really bad movies in the dark with more than just a few drinks shared between our rag-tag band of misfits. I ended up with Merrill cuddling into my side near the end of our second movie.

 _I am not drunk enough for this._ I thought as I stared longingly into my empty glass, almost as if I could conjure up more rum by mere thought alone.

I could not, and I was very disappointed by that development.

"I told you that it isn't a good idea to take him by yourself." Aveline crossed her arms, speaking as if I was not in the room with them. Isabela leaned against the doorway with a hand on her hip, being _oh so sassy._

"Why not? It's not like he's going to skip town, he'd sooner get lost in the back alleys and get robbed." She jerks her thumb in my direction.

"Yeah, hello, I'm right here." I straddled a chair, waving my hand at the both of them. "I'm not _that_ incompetent with my surroundings you know."

"You said you got lost in the woods—"

"That's _different_! Trees look the same and don't have street signs!"

They returned to ignoring me, and after much arguing, Aveline eventually gave up and left the room in a huff.

"Fine, but if he's not here when I get back, your ass is grass, whore."

"What do you mean you don't have a phone?" Isabela seemed surprised by my response to her question, so there we were in a phone store, with Isabela goading me to choose a phone.

"We have to get you _something_ , Hawke, how else will we get a hold of you?"

"Bother Aveline?" I shrugged with a half-hearted smile as I looked over the numerous devices that they had for display.

I ended up choosing a simple touch-screen, that being all they really offered nowadays anyhow.

Paperwork was done, much to my own dismay and elbowing to try and get Isabela to not look at my signature, and lo' and behold, I had a phone. The first thing that I did was get Isabela's number and suddenly I was without it again as her slim fingers took it from my hands and tapped in everyone else's numbers plus taking a picture of herself for her icon.

The next thing I did was text these new numbers with a lame "Hi, it's Hawke, got new phone." And much to Isabela's delight, I agreed to hang around with her for the rest of the day.

"You're a strange one." I commented, looking at it when she gave it back. After that we wandered around Lowtown for a bit, browsing the merchant shops. There were plenty of goods that caught my eye, primarily another red scarf at an accessory merchant.

Isabela said that it complimented my eyes greatly—well she might have said eyes, or she might have said arse, I couldn't really hear her. Eventually Isabela questioned what I did for "fun" and asked me about my sex life—which is unfortunately nonexistent.

She did indeed offer to 'make sure it still worked' and I all but immediately declined. The thought of sex left a foul taste in my mouth and I had no intention of sleeping with her.

Lunch was first on the schedule after she proudly announced her hunger to the world and dragged me through the crowds towards Duncan's again.

Honestly, my worry had not faltered through these few days, not since I spoke to Kennet. I was genuinely worried that they would not accept me, even though it had sounded like they were willing to bring me along.

Isabela carried on to another story of hers regarding the time one of her crew had gotten thrown overboard because of some squabble over toast.

"That's pirates for you. So serious about their toast."

"Oh so serious." I spoke through a mouthful. The Rivaini woman was on her phone, tapping away with a growing smile, her phone buzzing in response.

Who in the world would be up for talking so much?

"Isabela." I said quickly, "What is this Fenris character like? You know him?"

Her face lit up and her lips quirked into a smile. There was a glint in her eyes that had all sorts of teasing words hidden beneath those lashes.

"Interested in him, are you?"

I sputtered.

"What? No. I-I just wanted to know a bit, that's all!"

 _Don't give me that look, Isabela._ My face heated up, I rolled my eyes and shrugged away with a growl, my attention going elsewhere in the room.

A hum caught my attention and she had her phone in front of me. I took it with a questioning look and a crooked sneer.

"Look through the photos." She purred. "There might be a few you like." A wink and she returned to her food.

My heart raced. Was she really letting me be _that guy_ who creeped on someone's pictures? _Oh, Maker, why._

Of course, I looked. Every second my heart raced as I tapped on her photo album, and there were _so_ many pictures. Being the curious person, I scrolled down, zipping past whatever she'd wanted to show me, and looked through the rest. There were just so many of them. I stopped at something that looked like a wedding.

White everywhere, people dancing, smiling, drinking, and then there were the images of the new couple.

A young woman dressed in all white, long black hair styled in a rather gorgeous braid draped over her right shoulder. Flowers in her hair, and a piercing blue gaze that was locked onto her new husband, the man that I recognized as Anders. Though he looked much better in this image in his tux and clean shaven. They smiled at one another with an intensity that sent an ache through my heart.

This was what love must have looked like. This was her—my sister. She looked so much like our mother. Apparently I'd been staring too long, or perhaps looking too forlorn, because when I looked up Isabela was gone, and instead was hovering over my shoulder.

"I was wondering what you were looking at." She rested her hands on my shoulders; something she'd done so many times before but now there was no intimate intent in her aura. "Marian was so happy on her big day. I don't think any of us had seen her smile as much as she did since we've known her." Isabela settled next to me, a soft sigh following.

She scrolled up further to more pictures of the wedding. Just seeing the two of them smiling, cutting their cake, and dancing together... and just how they looked at one another. I saw my father dancing with her, his arm around her waist and a proud smile hidden within that beard, and then there was Carver and Bethany with her, then my mother, then it was all of them dancing together. Just the four of them.

I could feel it in my chest, just this longing ache of regret. I've missed so much over the years and the fact that I had not been there. I supposed that this was something I had forgotten was a possibility.

"Are you okay?" Isabela had noticed the crack in my voice.

"What? I'm fine." _I most certainly am not fine, but I'm not going to let you know that._

She rested her head on my shoulder, continuing to scroll through wedding photos. There were so many selfies with her and the blushing bride.

 _Maker, Mary looks beautiful in that dress._ No doubt it was Grandma Calista's dress. I remembered hearing our parents arguing over who would be wearing what if either daughter got married. Marian had insisted on wearing Calista's. I smiled. Perhaps unconsciously, with the delight that she still wanted to follow in line from our fathers' side.

"She's beautiful." I heard the words come out of my mouth, but I didn't consciously recall actually speaking. Isabela's eyes held concern for perhaps a moment, but quickly disappeared when she stopped at another group shot.

He was there. _Fenris._ Smiling with his arms wrapped tight around Marian's waist. In another, Anders had put himself in between Fenris and Marian and hand his arm protectively wrapped around her, a glare in Fenris' direction.

" _There's_ Fenris." Isabela commented, "we jokingly suggested he be one of the maids of honor."

"Isn't that for—"

"Yeah, it is usually for women, but Anders already had his best man and Marian wanted Fenris to be a big part in it. So there—" She scrolled up again to the precession, with all of them lined up. Fenris in a tuxedo with a soft smile. "we have me, Merrill, Bethany, and Fenris." Then she pointed to the man next to Anders. "Then there's Karl Thekla, Anders' best man, Nathaniel Howe, and Cullen Rutherford." I looked over at Fenris. "We dubbed him 'Gentleman of Honor'."

"I bet Bethany was upset about that." I joked.

Isabela looked at me confused, _oops_.

"I-I mean, Bethany's her sister, right? I heard the lot of you talking about them when we went out so I just thought—Well they look similar and I just—" _Shut up, Garrett._

"Right!" She snapped, the realization hitting her. "Yeah, Bethy was not too happy about that, but it made Marian happy. So we let it happen."

"Why does it look like Anders was _not_ too happy about it?" I point out the obvious glare directed at Fenris.

"Because he wasn't." Isabela deadpanned. "He didn't even want Fenris to be a part of their big day."

"Why not?"

She leaned back, stealing my drink and sipping at it. "Well, I usually wouldn't spread idle gossip but—"

"That's a fucking lie and you know it." Her Cheshire grin gave that much away.

"Alright," she held her hands up, chuckling good naturedly. "Well, I mean, it's nothing horrible. Mary and Fenris dated for about a year but on their anniversary something went down and Fenris decided that it would be better that they stopped seeing one another. Mary apparently swore on her life to not give out details so I couldn't even coax 'em out of her. Basically he broke her heart so much that Anders still couldn't forgive him for it."

"So, a grudge?" _So I guess I don't have a chance?_ I saw how Fenris looked at my sister in one of the images. There was still a small romantic intensity to his gaze. I was almost jealous. Okay, I was a _little_ jealous.

"Pretty much." I had the phone in hand, scrolling through more photos. There were a lot more, all of which were dated for a couple years back, and most of them were of their group all together. There were a lot more taken of Fenris when he wasn't looking at the camera. "I think after they split, Fenris went out with this guy—tch—what was his name…?" She screwed her eyes up for a moment then sighed. "Ah, whatever."

I blinked. "He's bi?"

"Yup." _Well that's a relief._

She had this look hard pressed on me and if I had to guess, she was probably wondering if I was as well. Well I'm not, but she's probably figured that out by now.

"You really like taking pictures of him, don't you?" I asked, quickly changing the subject.

"That I do. He's pretty freaking hot, don't you think?"

"Well, yeah, but I—" _Oops_. Well, it couldn't be _that_ bad of a slip—

If Isabela could have squealed any louder, I think the dogs on the street would have gone deaf.

"So you _are_ interested in him!" She shouted, bouncing in her seat and shaking my arm. I dropped her phone to shush her.

" _ISABELA!_ " My face burned. "That's not—"

"Oh just admit it!"

"I will admit to _nothing_." I crossed my arms, scowling. There was no way I'd openly admit to it anyway! At least not to her, but denying it seemed to make it worse!

"Hawkey, you're a gem, a true gem." She pinched my cheek and laughed when I slapped her hand away.

"You're horrible."

Thursday morning.

It was pretty early then, the sky barely even specked with colour, about five in the morning. In a haze and a craving for nicotine I'd found myself outside, leaning against the brick wall with a lit cigarette caught in my teeth and my phone in hand, picking at the keys texting Isabela, because Maker knows why she was up this early.

 **Isabela** (5:20 AM)

Big day tomorrow, huh?

 **Garrett** (5:20 AM)

You have no idea.

 **Isabela** (5:21 AM)

Nervous?

 **Garrett** (5:23 AM)

Beyond nervous.

(5:24 AM)

I don't know why I'm so worried. I know the lot of you, and you're not _horrible_ people.

 **Isabela** (5:24 AM)

LOL : ) U know it. But for real, I think you'll like Mary.

 **Garrett** (5:25 AM)

I wouldn't doubt it. She sounds like an amazing person.

It was then that I realized that something else was up and about in the dusky chill of morning. I put my phone away, ignoring the buzz that tickled my pocket. Another pull of my cigarette and my senses woke. Alert.

Someone was out there. I couldn't see anything save for a few feet in front of me from the buildings' light. I didn't breathe despite the burning sensation in my lungs. Finally I choked and let it out through a violent coughing fit.

That was when I saw him. Though only a glint of metal and glowing eyes beneath a hood, he charged at me then halted a foot in front of me, skidding in the snow yet somehow retaining balance with a grace to rival a cat, a bag loosely hanging over his shoulders. The sigil of the Red Iron only _just_ visible on his coat.

"Hawke, right?" He breathed out then quickly gave a toothy grin from beneath that hood. I didn't answer him at first, my entire body still tensed at his sudden approach, but then he kept low, which signified submission—or at least an attempt to not appear threatening. A nod and he reached into his bag and withdrew an envelope, holding it out to me.

"You're in."

The moment I took it, he tossed down a smoke grenade. Heavily unnecessary, but he was gone when the smoke cleared.

 _Rogues._

Rolling my eyes, I looked up at the other windows of the complex, then dug into the paper, unfolding a hand-written note with several phone numbers, names, an address, and—something fell from the folds into the snow. A key? Odd. Anyhow, there were numbers and names of important people no doubt.

In the time I took to whip out my phone and input those new numbers, I'd somehow managed to ignore three more texts from Isabela all while quickly sending a text to the individual with a basic greeting, stating who I was, and a quick thanks (sent only to Meeran) with 'Hawke' being the chosen signature. I'd end up getting a new one once I was integrated anyway.

Several messages floated back and I clicked my fingers against the parchment, setting it alight and letting it burn away into ash.

My gaze immediately turned up to Aveline's window. It was still dark, hopefully she wouldn't be up for another hour—but that was less likely. I'll have to make this quick then. A musical tone caught me back with Meeran's name lit on the screen.

 **Meeran** (5:37 AM)

Are you alone?

 **Garrett** (5:38 AM)

Yes.

After a painful silence, my phone lit up with Meeran on the other end.

"Hawke." I said out of instinct.

"Welcome aboard." He spoke clearing his throat even though his voice still remained guttural. "So you're in, you got the key, yeah?"

"Aye." I twirled the little brass thing between my fingers, eying it with a malicious grin.

"Here's the deal, since I hear you're shacked up with Lieutenant Vallen; you need to pack up."

I made a noise that I couldn't quite determine the origin of followed by a _why_?

"Get out of there as soon as you can and head to Darktown. Take the subway off Broadsten and Heath and make sure you're not followed. We'll have a guy waiting for you. You can't work with us and live with a cop—they're too nosy _. Especially that one_." I could almost _hear_ him roll his eyes.

Duly noted.

"See you soon, Hawke."

The line went dead and I stood there, staring at my phone before pocketing it and turning into the building.

This was it.

I was on the couch watching the TV. Lieutenant Vallen left an hour ago and I remained for the moment. Once I knew she wasn't coming back, I set to work with packing away my things. I didn't have much to begin with, so it made it that much easier. I had only been there a few days with next to no time for myself, so I decided that it was the perfect time to snoop.

The door to her room was usually locked when she left; I'm a trained killer with more than a few tricks up my sleeve. Lockpicking came second nature. On my knees before the door, I twisted a bobby pin and a make-shift shiv into the slot, prodding each bolt and listening as each fell into their respective locks, and then a click followed.

 _I'm in!_ I could laugh at my own stupidity as the door creaked open and I peered into darkness. The room smelled vaguely like strawberries and I inch inward. She had to have a backpack or something in there, right? I groped the wall blindly until a switch came under hand.

Dull lights barely illuminated the room for the first ten seconds, my eyes adjusted quickly and I immediately got to opening everything; drawers, closets, cabinets, even looking under her bed for anything I could use for storage.

Her closet had an older backpack hung up on the side, so I snatched it up and slung it over my shoulder. Glancing around the room, the second thing I saw was her dresser. I knew that usually there was nothing but her clothes in there, but something told me there was more to this woman than I was privileged to know.

I rifled through her clothes, pushing the organized stacks of fabric off to the side, going from bottom to top because from past experiences there were usually good things hidden in the bottom. Unfortunately not this time. Her top drawer was full of underclothes and socks and it took me a moment to collect myself as I went through them. Nothing like going through a woman's lingerie to start ones day. Hesitating a moment before I would have closed it, I noticed a neatly folded piece of paper hidden beneath a bra.

A newspaper clipping, no doubt. I took it and unfolded it.

In the dim light I could barely make out the faded words, but it was clear enough. It was an obituary.

 **Ser Wesley Vallen**.

His faded smile seemed to stare mockingly out into the void in the black-and-white image. I read the clipping, curious. He was a Templar who was murdered in cold blood a few years ago. I stared at his photo for a painful time, and in truth I felt sorry for her. Out of respect, instead of mockery, I folded it up properly and returned it to its original place. Then I hesitated. So Aveline was indeed married—and only for a short time it seemed. The thought hit me;

 _I've been wearing her dead husbands' clothes._

 _Oh. Maker_.

An unclean feeling. I've sullied a dead man's home and his threads and now—I shuddered, holding myself with a sickened feeling.

The drawer closed with a pitiful _thunk_ and suddenly I had new motivation to get out of here, but there was time for more snooping. I found my gauntlet stashed in another drawer—so that was coming with me as well.

A chill ran down my spine the instant I picked it up. The air was thick with sorrow; invisible tendrils of raw emotion poured down through barely visible rifts in the nothingness of air. It was suffocating.

Breaths were drawn and released in labored succession, my throat tightened and the room spun around me; I had little time to resort to forcing most of my weight onto the dresser with a hand tight around my neck. I looked up into the large mirror, only seeing my eyes and my own darkened form as I blinked. The lights went out with a startling pop and the entire room was plunged into darkness.

Glowing eyes stared back at me, unblinking. Even when I blinked they were still there, still staring. Behind me there was nothing, I knew that, but every ounce of my body suddenly told me to run.

Effort to blink away the petrifying gaze, again and again and still the same amber gaze glared back at me from the reflective surface, going dim as the light of dawn slowly penetrated the closed blinds. I swallowed drily, tugging at the collar of my shirt and withholding a breath.

There was no one here.

No one but me.

Again my gaze drew towards the mirror.

The shadows twisted and writhed behind me and a lone figure hung its arms over my shoulders, bending me over onto the cool wooden top. Claws extended on either side of me and every nerve in my body screamed to bolt, but my legs were cemented in place out of a growing terror with every inch of the shadow closing in on my person.

Closing in… Closing in… Tightening around me… Eyes squeezed shut and jaw set, tensed. I'm suffocating… Tightness in my throat, in my chest, tears straining down my face, suddenly there's a tug from behind and a crackling in my arms and then—

I'm weightless.

The lights flickered on and the sun peered through the half-closed blinds in Aveline's room, trailing over the bed and over my face. My eyes were open. I was on the floor. No one was in the room with me. My chest heaved with each breath I took. I lay there wide eyed and sore. The crackling of magic lingered in the air, my wrists aching with each spark that raced through my veins. Every shudder of my body and every twitch of muscle sent mind-numbing agony throughout my nerves and with every breath, it was like an opera of sensation.

I curled my fingers into the carpet and squeezed my eyes shut tight.

 _Snap out of it!_

The first thing to my right was the backpack, half-squished from weight landing on it. I dragged both of my hands down my face and let out what could have been mistaken for the sound of a dying whale.

 _Did that really just happen? But… what_ did _just happen?_

I squinted against the sunlight and rolled to my side, still jittering from aftershocks I shifted onto my legs with hands now rested in my lap.

Next thing I knew, I had the bag in hand and I booked it to my bedroom. I dropped to my knees and immediately started, haphazardly, shoving clothes into the pack. Yanking open drawers and throwing open doors. A special kind of adrenaline raged through my veins.

It's like it was back in Tevinter, back during my first real mission.

Originally it had only be a reconnaissance mission; get the layout of the land and territory for the next raid, but it ended up turning sour almost as quickly as it had started and I was forced to grab whatever I could and book it.

I'd almost died that day. I kind of wish I had, but my survival was both miraculous and accidental. I still have the scars to prove it. My survival proved to Danarius that I was not just some kid—especially not after the things I did…

My head collided with the underside of the bed, scaring me back to reality. I finally reached out and snagged my black glove, shimmying my way to freedom and escaping the confines of the enclosed space.

I was too big to be under there! Instantly, my mind switched to flight mode and I resumed packing with frantic abandon.

Everything was with me. My clothes, my phone, a couple CDs, my staff—where is my staff? I looked around the room frantically—but it was still propped against the wall by my bed—I rushed over and grabbed it. The bag slung over my shoulder and I had my "uniform" on, plus the scarf Isabela bought for me.

One final glance over the room;

The bed; tidy, there was nothing on the floor, there was no laundry to be done, and I had everything that was mine tucked away into the bag.

I need to write a note. A sticky note with "Thank you, and Farewell – Hawke " scrawled over it. _Sounds reasonable enough, right? Right._

A twice over of the apartment and I headed to Aveline's room and lock the door once again. Everything was back where it should be, and so this meant it was time for me to leave.

I hesitated. My hand hovering over the doorknob. I swallowed with a bitter taste hanging on my tongue, a deep breath, and another.

 _It was nice Aveline… Thank you._

There was no one in the hall, and all was silent. I moved silently towards the stairs and I stopped just before the door to adjust my scarf over my face and pulled my hood up and over and, finally, walked out into the cold.

It's a somber trek. Crunching through piles of snow and cracking thin layers of ice beneath my boots with my head down and thoughts running rampant.

Sidewalks are crawling with people traveling on foot. It's far too busy for every person to own a vehicle, especially this deep into the city, so most just walk. It's faster and if you need to get somewhere in a hurry, you can always run. I walk against the flow of traffic, pushing past people with little care, with each ounce of my nerve telling me to just book it to the station.

I got lost several times trying to find street names and ended up finding myself crossing streets multiple times while trying to make my way downtown. By this point it's getting ridiculous so I eventually headed inside a coffee shop and asked directions.

The directions were about as vague as it could get but another person pointed the way out, eventually. So I hurried along the path once again with a brisk gait. There was a brief moment when I thought that I'd seen Merrill or Isabela among the crowds.

 _It's all in my head_ , I'd think, _they're at work today._

Reassurance helps only as much as you want it to—and I didn't seem to want it enough.

Eventually I found the streets that Meeran had mentioned, and shortly after that, I found the subway.

I absolutely _loathed_ the daily commute. I really and truly did. I hated how people moved in droves down the stairs and how they all clustered around the tube map. I can only see the routes thanks to good height genetics. Being six-foot-five had all its advantages and disadvantages. Pros outweighed the cons, so praise the Gods for that.

The route that took all the way down to Darktown seemed to be the longest, but that's fine. Another damn queue later and I have my pass. Now I just had to wait for the train.

Some of the _people_ in this lobby are wonky and shady as sin. I don't trust any of them. Several other mages waited in line next to me, each of them shuffling or shifting on their feet, one bouncing her staff with a very nervous energy twisting around her form. It seemed, to me, that more and more mages seemed to gravitate towards this side of the station, staying away from the mundane. There are lots of mages here; most of which wear hoods, masks, or just about anything to hide their identities from the public eye.

I don't blame them. Not one bit.

I could pick them out individually if I so desired, again with my special talent of being able to see wisps and the faintest outline of an aura. Several of them are classed to Primal magic; the majority of them are more leaned towards elemental and creation magic. Few are classed in entropy and as I look around and the growing crowd of mages, there is one wisp of magic that swirls strongest around one girl in particular, who'd gravitated towards me. She looked up at me from beneath her hood with _gorgeous_ blue eyes with a small grin on her lips and pale strands of blonde hair that lightly fluttered over her brow that she quickly tucked behind a pointed ear.

 _She's like me._ Her aura is twisted, not wholly sinister, but not wholly innocent. The look in her eyes is proof enough until she held out her arm and bore her wrist to me, but my attention was more drawn towards the intricate outline of black in that must have been a full sleeve of a tattoo. I was impressed until I actually looked at her hand, a gentle wisp flickered from her wrist. This sort of greeting between forbidden magicks made it easier for people, mostly those of the same forbidden class, to identify one another.

I hesitated, but slowly rolled up my sleeve only an inch and bare to her my own. It's a brief viewing. That has us settled on peaceful terms. _Another like me…_ There's a comfortable silence between us—her head rested against my arm. I cleared my throat and she jolted back with a muffled _sorry_. She'd be the first person I've granted a genuine smile to, and I don't even know her name.

"It's alright." I say, "We're at peace here."

This waiting is taking too long and it was really freaking cold, but the warmth of this elven woman made it bearable. I thought the train would be here by now. I'm at peace. An unusual feat for being out and about. It's this woman, I know, that's keeping me anchored to the realm of sanity for the moment.

That peace was obliterated the moment a man trundled past our congregation, a dizzy energy nearly suffocating him, and he spat out any slur he could think of at the sight of our staves.

"You there-! You big, _hnn_ , wah-wanker!" He's uncomfortably close to me and he reeked of alcohol. I closed my eyes and exhaled through my nose, lifting my head towards the ceiling; _think happy thoughts_. Vigorous jabbing into my ribs breaks my concentration and I crack open an eye. He's still there. Greasy-haired, long nosed, beady-eyed, ragged.

I see him—trying to ignore him—a small opening was made around us and he was looking me up and down. Is he sizing me up? Is he _trying_ to start a fight? Now I sneer, a snicker following as he puffs out his chest.

Maker's breath this is hilarious. An incoherent git is trying to pick a fight this early in the day? What luck I'm having. People were staring, and as I glanced around, I noticed that some people… were they actually recording this? I mean—come on; I'm not going to deck the guy.

 _As badly as I wanted to._

This dance of mock-lunges and attempts to intimidate me only made me laugh more. Internally. Externally I'm stone-faced, just staring him down.

"Y-You an-and yer glowin' eyes!" He staggers back, a crooked finger jabbed to my face.

"Demons! The lots of ye! Ahaha!" The air twists around him and I watch him fall back, stumbling, catching himself on his own ripped pant leg. A split second when I heard the whistle of the train, and then I see him falling backwards over the line. A collective gasp was followed by silence as the drunk teetered over the edge, and a horn sounded.

The train's coming.

I could have let it go. I could have let him fall. I _wanted to_. I should have let him fall.

But all instincts told me no. It's not his day. There was always a reason behind drunks; and he didn't deserve to die.

I rushed forward instantly, my claws digging into the front of his jacket and I quite literally yanked him out of the air, using all the momentum to throw his sorry ass back onto the tile just as the train barreled through the line, the rush of wind nearly sending me forward into the speeding metal machine. My heart is in my throat and I can't breathe—the sudden rush of adrenaline has me on edge once again, and all eyes are on me.

I just saved a guy who tried to pick a fight with me. He grumbled from the floor, wide-eyed and breathless. I'm shaking. Violently. It's visible in my hands.

Hesitance hung in the air, until someone hurried to the drunks' side to pull him to his feet. His chiding had vanished, replaced by silent gratitude. I only watched as the train unloads, the elven woman once again at my side, she'd attempted to link her arm with mine like we had some kind of accord but I, politely, told her not to.

The ride could have been more eventful, if I had to be honest. I stood rigid, holding onto the rail for dear life with the same elven woman at my side, though she was a tad too close for comfort but I wouldn't say anything to her about that, not in public.

"Eris Tabris," She chimed. I looked down with a start and confusion until it clicked. That's her name. Eris.

"Hawke." I breathed, trying to appear friendly, but ultimately giving up and returning a half-assed smirk. We conversed quietly on the trip and during said conversation I'd learned that she's an artist with a couple pieces up in the 'snooty' part of Hightown and she was going for a demonstration. Honestly, I kind of wanted to go see it; I've always loved seeing artwork and—well. Work usually kept me too busy.

Before we got to her stop, we exchanged numbers, and spoke freely about an art gallery in town that had just opened—apparently her works were going to be on display there. I will never deny that I _loved_ seeing artwork, being someone who used to do it myself, I loved seeing how other people expressed themselves. Honestly, I could go on a tangent about things that I enjoyed, but she had bid me farewell and left with the receding crowd with a smile hidden beneath her hood.

Suddenly I was alone again.

For the remainder of the ride I had my head rested against the pole, looking down at my feet as people brushed past me. Once my stop was called, I headed off with my head down and the ever growing cloud of panic looming overhead.

The station is nearly empty, and by the looks of it, only a few folk shared this stop with me. Once we step onto the platform, everyone leaves in a hurry, ducking down or just flat out booking it to the stairs. It took a moment for me to realize that there was no one actually waiting for me. It's dark in the station with couple of flickering lights overhead and it certainly is not well-kempt, and there was certainly no one here for me.

 _Ugh._

It reeked of bile, rot and piss. Certainly not a prime place for meetings. I stood idly for the moment, tapping the butt of my staff into the tile grout while I surveyed the surrounding area. The _tink_ of metal echoed in the dark and a tightening in my chest told me that it was not safe to remain still any longer. I head for the stairs, readying my staff in case of attack. You never know what lingers in the dark—but I had a feeling that something horrible would happen if I even dared drop my guard further.

For a moment I felt like I was being watched, I had believed the moment would pass as soon as I headed up into the city but I was far from wrong. In fact the feeling of dread had increased almost tenfold the moment I left the station.

I groan inwardly, quickly throwing glances here and there at passing individuals. The people I saw moving about did not look very trusting of outsiders. I can't blame them either, all things considered, they live in such shitty conditions and more than likely are spat upon by those of higher standings.

In all truth, they still live better than Tevinter slaves. Far better. I would have envied them had I not been "granted" my former residence, or my former masters' standings. The very thought makes me shudder. I push those feelings away and kick myself into motion. I have to stay around the station in case this 'contact' actually decides to show their face. So I lean back against the wall of a building and wait.

It's really freaking cold out here. My breath wisps through my coat and I desperately want a smoke. Another breath and I glare off into nothing, shoving my hand into a pocket with a growl lingering on my tongue.

 _This is ridiculous, where the hell are they?_

I shielded my eyes against a chilling wind, choking on a rank stench of decay. A lingering sensation of unrest hangs in the air, and another breath made me rethink my current choices. Who wasn't working right now that I could pester? Truly, I don't want to message any of the current folk that I know, but I'm at a loss for anything to do.

Phone in hand, I scroll through the few numbers I do have saved in; I'd input Theron and Zevran's numbers but I neglected to actually contact them out of fear that somehow someone else would get ahold of my number or my location. I can't have people coming after me. Not right now.

I settled for pestering Merrill even though I knew she was working. At least she had interesting stories to tell about that weird hipster store she worked at.

 **Garrett** (10:24AM)

Hey. Just wondering what you're up to.

Then I wait, tapping the heel of my boot against the wall, humming softly with another glance around the streets. Other than the people leaving the station, my position is all but avoided. That's a relief.

My phone buzzes.

 **Merrill:** (10:30AM)

Heyyyy! I'm rly busy here! Lots of customers today! :))

 **Garrett:** (10:32AM)

Whatever works, works, right?

 **Merrill:** (10:33AM)

Yup! What are you up to?

 **Garrett:** (10:33AM)

NM. Bored. Waiting for something.

There's a hesitance to send the last text, but I do. Then I pocket my phone and wander a bit a ways from the station.

"Hawke!"

My head snapped in the direction of my name and instantly I'm on edge. A man comes running over to me, arm raised and a stupid grin. Instincts kicked in and the second he came too close, I had him pinned to the wall by his throat, a snarl being the only sound I could make. Tension rose significantly as I invaded his mind with magic. I sought his intentions; but could not find any amidst every tendril of terror that arced through my veins to my own mind.

 _Absolutely. Delicious._

The rush of his heartbeat and every sense of terror I feel from him. My vision narrowed and all I saw was this kid. This poor, horrified kid that I had in my grasp. A sick and twisted grin split my lips, and our brief encounter looked like an ever promising disaster the tighter I squeezed.

 _How easy it would be to just kill him here… How easy…_

"Enough!" A violent tug on my arm brought me to my senses and I dropped the kid, who clutched at his throat, gasping for air. I twist toward the other person, fist clenched, readied to strike. I didn't even notice how quickly he had me pinned against the wall, arms locked to either side in vice-like grips.

"I said: _that's enough_."

 _Meeran._

I wrenched my arms from his grasp and unclenched my jaw and cracking my neck with an earnest scowl. For the moment I'm ignored; the kid was pulled to his feet and Meeran scolded him.

"I told you not to approach him outright! He could have killed you!"

It's only a brief chastising; and this kid was either a complete idiot (highly likely) or testing me (highly unlikely) so I lingered behind the two before Meeran faced me.

 _Quick on his heel, that one._

"Here I thought I'd be meeting someone with some sense in him." I sneer. "Not some brat fresh out of his trainers." The staff was returned to my back and I crossed my arms standing in a way so that I could run or fight if I had to.

Palpable silence followed a stern glare as the older man runs a hand through his hair, pacing before me with very obvious irritation, he turned and grabbed the kid by his shoulder and pulled him away from me, only looking over his shoulder to say,

"Follow me."

Orders are orders, and it's not up to me whether I stay or go so I followed obediently and silently. I found greater amusement in watching the kid massage his throat. The streets progressively get more and more empty the further into Darktown we go. It's pitiable here. The lost and the detested live in this kind of place, wallowing in their own misery. I pulled my scarf over my nose to hopefully stave off the retched smells, feeling far more superior about myself than before with every passing second.

Eventually Meeran slows to walking beside me, telling the kid to guide us back to their base. Along the way the discussion of payment comes up and it's followed up with other various questions.

"So," he said without hesitation, "let me get this straight; your old man had you marked for death, didn't outright kill you for some Maker-forsaken reason, hasn't bothered tracking you down… and you're more than willing to resume mercenary work despite the fact that there could be a huge bounty on your head with a rival guild?"

"That about sums it up, yes." He raised a good point, and a good question.

 _Why was Dan not tracking me?_ Only now, I supposed, I realized that I haven't felt a pull of tracking magic in the time I've been on my own. Usually I could sense when someone was trying to find me, but the pull has been all but nonexistent. Perhaps the will to survive beat out my own innate fear of being found, so that question never came to mind.

We turned a corner and more questions were given, which I answered truthfully. There was no point in lying to my new boss.

"How clean can you make it?" My methods of killing came up, and Meeran gave a pointed stare.

"I can make it look like an accident, and I can make it look like it never happened."

" _Gwaren_ didn't look like something horrible hadn't happened." The kid speaks up from ahead.

 _Oh, that._ I snort. The entire thing had been a complete and utter fuck-up but I got the job done! There's a moment where I almost regretted laughing, but nothing was stopping me from delivering a sick chuckle.

"Well, there were a lot more people than I'd intended to get rid of." No lie there.

"Besides, I thought those boring roads needed a little color to liven up the place." Says I, disregarding the fact that the murder location had been one of the most scenic routes to and from Gwaren.

"Can you do better?" Meeran prods.

"Of course." was the only answer I return before my growing anxiety effectively silences my voice; it took him a few minutes to figure that out even though I'd tried to vocalize with him. Our walk, thankfully, ended with a silent trek into a warehouse, down several flights of stairs, and through an unmarked door.

The entire room was dark and I didn't know what to make of it—there's static in my ears, my heart in my throat, my nerves on the brink of combustion, and suddenly nothing. It's dead silent save for the sounds of our footfalls against concrete.

"Almost there." I hear Meeran breathe, shuffle past me, and grunt as he pushed the kid out of his way. Rustling fabrics join in the faint hum of the streets above us, the sounds of water dripping, running, and the tapping of our feet to some introspective beat in this mind-numbing silence. It's not even a long trek and I'm already weary; more from tension than actual exhaustion.

A hand pressed against my chest and I halt in place, looking over until a flash of light told me that something was unlocked, there's a beep and just like that the wall in front of us opened. Slowly, creaking and groaning like it hadn't been opened in ages.

Light pours into the hallway but no one moves and muscle for what seemed like an eternity—a sickening edge to this already agitating moment and instead I'm met by Meeran turning on his heel and forcing me to the wall, a single hand splayed firmly on my chest. My eyes narrow the longer I stared back at him but I didn't react.

There's a twitch of his lip into what I thought was a smirk, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had come and off he was through the doorway, the kid following closely after. There's a chorus of people shouting his name followed by an abrupt silence the second I closed the gap between us.

 _Oh, Maker._ There's a new air to this place; combinations of emotions that battle one another for dominance. It was originally a neutral, pleasant calm before I walked through the door and in that instant everyone put their guard up.

I've only felt this tension during missions or moments before I would have been punished for disobedience, but this—this is new, and coming from so many people all at once made it seemed like no one trusted anyone.

You'd think they'd have been informed of new arrivals—that was how it worked in the Vint's guild anyway. I guess that's not how it goes here. Meeran stopped in his tracks and turned to me once again, motioning to my hood then down.

 _Oh._

Tension increased tenfold—but every motion kept slow and even as I reached up. No doubt if I do something they didn't like, they'd take me down on the spot so down goes the hood. I stand there, internally screaming at myself to just run, but there is no motion, and there is no running. My only exit is locked behind me and I'm now at the mercy of at least one hundred armed mercenaries. I can't vocalize my peace so my gaze remains on Meeran.

He smiled, nodded and held up his hand—and just like that there's a break in tension; the air finally relaxed and breathable. I hadn't realized that I held my breath until the overwhelming desire to exhale forced it out of me. Shuffling sounds echo about and now _I_ finally relax.

Now is the time to look around—see where I would be working from now on.

My attention trails from Meeran, standing to my left, to people gathered around several burning campfires cooking food or just warming up. Some stood atop wooden platforms built into the red-stone walls, others stood atop lookout posts or wandered over bridges overhead.

The room had an odd scent about it; rustic, stale, sweaty; like it's both stagnant yet busy at the same time. I watched as groups of three or four armed men and women pass beneath wooden archways, disappearing into stone-laden halls far too narrow only to see other groups return almost as quickly as their companions had departed. The stench of sulfur and gunpowder linger closer towards the back of the cavern following up the sound of gunfire. Training, it seemed.

All in all, it looked more organized that I thought it would, disregarding the lack of décor (but what do mercenaries care about decoration?). Meeran whistled for me off in the distance with a group at his heels.

Eyes are on me as I strode forward, shoulders back—confidence is what I needed to show and so I do.

Meeran introduced me to the 'heads' of several off-branches of the Red Iron; A woman who only desired to be called 'R' spoke quickly and flighty even as she ducked away once again to tend to a courier.

Alright, I can respect that. I do the same thing.

Introductions were made, brief handshakes were given, R hadn't taken her eyes off of me the entire time—and it was not one of those flirtatious looks either, _thank the Maker_ , but held judgements that she couldn't voice. I lingered next to her for a moment while Meeran told me what I had to do; that even though my talents are known by the Red Iron, I had to work my way up the system like everyone else which, from my former standpoint, was all too reasonable and I readily accepted.

I was led away through another corridor by the kid from before, whose name I learned is Rydley, though he had no desire to be near me after I'd nearly strangled him.

Darkness swallows our twosome the further in we went. Silence followed with overpowering fingers ever slowly enclosing around my throat, a painful lump growing then travelling down and halting within my chest. _Suffocating_. The only word that can describe it—this unending staggering of breath fixed to the situation.

There is no threat, there is no immediate danger, and there certainly is no reason for the feeling. But it's there, haunting my every step, my every thought. This is wrong. Everything feels wrong.

"…what?" Rydley's hushed voice responds and I walked right into him.

I blink. Confused.

"Dan's not here." He says, pushing me back. "Don't know why you'd mention 'im."

I don't remember even speaking.

We part ways at the barracks; Rydley waving me off and heading down the opposite direction of hallway, and myself hesitating in the middle of everyone's way.

Others pushed past me carelessly until someone finally shoves my idled form out of the way. For a split hair of a second I want to bury my fist into the next person's throat—I desired it; to just watch someone crumble before me I—I cannot think like this, not here. The thoughts are immediately forced away, as delightful as they had been.

The familiar sense of loss and disassociation flits through my heart once again—I wish it could just leave me alone.

Breaking my own trance, I looked twice then headed down the opposing hall; I'd been told where I would be able to rest but finding it seemed far too difficult in such shoddy lighting. I found it eventually and as soon as I did I went in and settled on the cot, staring blankly at the one opposite of mine. It looked like I'd be sharing with others. A larger fellow by the looks of it.

That is… comforting, I suppose.

It's not comfortable. It's not homey. And it's certainly not a place that I wanted to be. I missed my own flat, my home, my dog. Reclined on the discomforting bed with my arms behind my head brought more thoughts back to Aveline and the rest of her friends.

I was supposed to meet them all at the Hanged Man tomorrow night… It seems I won't be going. Not that it mattered anymore.

My lip curls and I let out a disgusted noise, turning onto my side with eyes closed. Their faces came to mind; just the lot of them smiling and all out having a good time…

 _Ugh._ It's sickening, them, being so willing to put trust in a complete stranger and wholly inviting him out to a gathering that their _friends_ had done for months, maybe even years. They, who treated me like I was just another member of their group, just another friend. They, who acted like I was one of them.

I was not one of them; I would never be _one of them_.

I was alone.

I was alone for hours in the dark. Just lying there on my back; though I tried to sleep, nap, or whatever, I just couldn't ease myself into that state of comfort. A creaking door called my attention so I turned over to my side with a cold gaze settled on the man in the doorway.

Meeran.

He shook his head at me with a crooked smile, a foot planted firmly across the doorframe leveling his form on the other side. A flick of his wrist beckoned my following; and so I do. Walking close behind him; we go through new corridors, shortcuts, other more open rooms in this weird and twisted cave system that, I learned, actually settled into a rather military-esque compound. The whole time he'd explained several rules to me; most of which included a probation period due to my previous affiliation. As if I'd ever—no… I'd never go back.

"You will be monitored."

 _Kept under scrutiny, always on guard._

"Your gear and tools will only be distributed to you for assignments,"

 _Unarmed and vulnerable._

"You will do what you're assigned, and you will do it right. No exceptions."

 _Do not kill without necessity._

I stood before a gathering of men and women, all eyes on me as Meeran made the announcement. Some people I recognized from my time in my former company; all of whom sneer at my position.

I, a once highly ranked member of a guild of assassins, have been reduced to nothing more than a whelp once more, and I know that they will use this to crush me under their boots every chance they get.

Meeran walked in front of me, hands behind his back, straight posture, rigid and attentive, authoritative. From his stance alone, he knew how to run things and get people to listen. Quick on his heel, he faced me, performing some ritualistic oath, to which I swear upon. Actually, for the most part I hadn't been paying attention, this kind of talk was normal when a new recruit was introduced—kind of caught me off guard so I just agreed to their terms.

"You were from… Ah… what are they called?"

 _Oh, the guild?_

" _Occasus._ " The word flutters from my tongue easily. It's a delicate word, attached to something as sinister as my former guild, and as I looked over the gathered faces I definitely caught the looks of terror in some.

I grinned.

I was allowed free-roam of the facilities, given time to explore. Though R had made it seem like I was nothing more than a beast in a new habitat.

 _I'll show you a beast, lupa._ I sneered at her, but relented to the insult anyway.

 _Okay. Where am I?_

Apparently I'd turned down the wrong corridor this time and, got lost. Alright, yes, I'm lost. It was a little embarrassing to have to ask for directions so I didn't, but that was how I ended up in the middle of some room.

Someone cleared their throat behind me and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I turned on my heel to face the other but I was met a barrel chest instead of eyes. There's the little hint of fear. I was wondering where it went. My gaze turned up slowly to meet his.

A soft hazel gaze, despite his appearance. My breath caught in my throat and I immediately backed up, fully examining this… _specimen_ before me.

 _Easy there, killer._

He's a qunari, and he was _huge_. Long white hair pulled back into a bun with hooked horns facing forward, pointed ears decorated with a golden cuff over the tips, a strong jaw—fuck it, he was very attractive and unbelievably intimidating. He stood with his arms crossed, staring down at me. He must have felt shame on this poor sod in front of him.

 _Had I wandered in his room or something?_

"You lost, friend?" A deep voice and an accent. Great. Just great. I'm turning into a hormonal teenager again. Fucking—great.

I must have looked a bit too… confused… because the qunari grabbed my arm and pulled me back through the halls into another open cavern. It was different from the one I had come from, and there were so many people scattered about. That one… That one had plants growing everywhere, not even haphazardly. Like someone was trying to grow a whole freaking forest down there.

To say the least, I was very confused..

"Welcome to the Iron," He said, letting me go with a smile on his face. He was gentle, for a man of his size—physique. A hand extended to me, I took it with a firm grip. Then he laughed.

"So I saw your stuff back in the barracks. It looks like you'll be in with me. The names Avvar. I've heard about you, Hawke—right?" He rubbed his neck, looking over at the others.

 _Did my voice just disappear? Fuck, I think it did. What do I do?_

 _Sign?_

I nodded with a single 'yup' in response.

"So, you're a Shadowcaster, then? Classed in both rogue and mage skills?"

I dumbly nodded, but it was more that I chose to use stealth as a secondary, because magic can only take you so far without dexterity when you're an assassin.

Up and down, he looked like a basic warrior, but there was something else too.

"You're definitely a warrior," I commented, more so admiring the sheer muscle mass on his frame. "Obvious, I know," _You're being an idiot, stop it._ I caught on to some runes carved into his arms amidst battle scars. "Reaver and Spirit Warrior?"

"Observant." He nodded. "I think we'll get along just fine, Hawke." He didn't even know me, but he clapped me on the back with a guffaw and pulled me along with him towards a group of sparring rogues.

The off aura of magic from the runes actually put me at ease despite the discomfort of suddenly being herded about and introduced to Avvar's _friends_. He treated me as if I was someone worth knowing, like I was actually a candidate that he could consider a friend. I had a feeling I would end up getting to know his friends if I was stuck working at his side.

While it was nice being able to actually talk to people who weren't all that intimidated by me, I found myself trying to create a distance between the lot of them especially with _Avvar_ throwing his arm around my shoulders. He kept treating me like an old friend and it bothered the shit out of me.

He gave me the distinct feeling that he would not let me go until I _tried_ to interact, so I pulled up the façade of interest and _tried_ to be friendly. Fact still being that I didn't want to be out here, but several of my new acquaintances had made it a point to openly invite me to spar with them.

 _I guess it won't hurt to spar. It's not like you can make friends through beating the shit out of someone._

Acceptance was a strange thing; a grateful emotion that I was far too hesitant to allow.

I had forced myself to learn their names and what they looked like, and even their base class was an important feature to remember. You never knew when shit would hit the fan.

So there I was, sitting around a campfire next to Avvar with his group of friends; a mixed congregation of rogues, warriors, and even a few fellow mages, though I could tell they were unbelievably wary about my spell schools of choice. Thankfully none of them questioned me about what I could do.

Each person had a story, and each person had a name to match, so I'd remember them;

Adris Blackmark, I think he called himself, a dwarf brought to the surface because of some fucked up lyrium scandal. He had really long dark hair that he kept up in a braid with a beard to rival mine. Somewhere beneath those thick eyebrows he had eyes and it seemed like no matter how hard he'd try, his face was a dirt magnet. Rogue class, dual weaponry, if I recalled correctly, and I did not want to be on the business end of his blades. He was far stealthier that I originally pegged him to be.

Then there was Rydley, a lanky kid about nineteen years old, slim figure, green eyes and dirty blond hair that hung over his eyes, crooked teeth and a bad attitude. Rogue class, ranged weaponry, I've watched him shoot and he definitely not as clumsy as I thought—for a kid that I nearly strangled to death earlier on. Yes, I did apologize for that and no, he didn't forgive me. There were several others, two elves, another dwarf, and a few more humans, but I didn't care to know them.

The air twisted suddenly and the other mages stood wide-eyed. I turned in time to see her; th beautiful elven lass from the train station, now fully decked out in some type of armor with a cloak fluttering gracefully behind her.

"Eris?" I tilted my head, and then cracked a grin. "Well I'll be damned."

"Funny meeting you here, Hawke," She dipped her head. "I am glad we will be working together. One M to the next." She extended her hand gently, and I held it, being a dork and kissed her knuckles.

"For that, I too am grateful, my lady," Eris withdrew her hand with a giggle, her cheeks colored with a little embarrassment.

 _Cute_.

It turned out that there was a bit of comradery between the few of us and we ended up heading to the mess hall together. As odd as it sounded, even out loud or in my head, I think I might have actually made a _friend_ or two this early on. _This_ … I liked this. The discomfort and uncertainty was still there, but much more sedated. My mood was high and I was at ease for a moment; it was either the professional atmosphere, or maybe I was actually lightening up for once.

It was definitely the atmosphere. I all but panicked when I was dragged into a gathering of people in front of someone giving a lecture on 'the tyranny of Viscount Marlowe Dumar'.-which was beyond laughable had I not nearly choked on my own panic.

Eris had to drag me right back out while scolding Avvar as he trailed behind us.

I'd acquainted myself with several people by the time Meeran summoned me to his office. I was hesitant to actually go in at first, but then Kennet appeared and I just followed him in.

The two of them both eyed me expectantly. I saluted in response, as was protocol for newbies.

"You asked of me?"

"Hawke, we've decided just how long your probation will last." Kennet leaned against his desk, sitting just on the corner with hands locked together on his knee.

"Oh." Stupid response.

"Well, we were going to go with the whole 'two year' deal but—" Meeran started,

"You're a skilled assassin, and we're not going to piss away your talent sending you on menial tasks. You have one year to prove loyalty—" _if loyalty meant me being your errand boy then sure, I'll be 'loyal'._ "and afterwards we'll set you up with your team and you'll continue on from there. We want you up in ranks as fast as you want to be, but you need to work for it."

"As is usual for all guild systems, ser." I responded coolly, nodding with approval. It was certainly going better than I'd originally hoped. The only lingering dread being the mass amount of phone calls or texts I would be getting from Aveline when she discovered me gone.

"We have several contacts you'll be meeting throughout this time. I expect nothing but professionalism from you, Hawke." I saluted again, a grunt being my response.

"Alright then, dismissed."

I turned on my heel and marched out of there with high hopes and a grin actually playing out. This was right. I intended to make the best of this year if it killed me.

Besides—

 _What's a year?_


End file.
